Every Rose Has its Thorn
by Jaden Anderson
Summary: Tragedy befalls Ferelden with a darkspawn incursion. Cousland and co. are the only ones that can stop the Blight. But the events that unravel differ as she recruits the Amell mage, Tabris the city elf, and Aeducan the exiled princess. Multi Origin.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

~In the absence of light, shadows thrive

The oiled rag clutched tightly in her hand slid effortlessly down the blade, leaving behind a smooth sheen and the reflection of a face she no longer knew. The once bright eyes were now hallowed and hardened, the full lips now pressed into a hard line. The harrowed cries of those her family had sworn protection to echoed through her ears, their blood staining her hands red. The memories of men pinned through the chests, slaughtered against walls, their fading screams as they slumped into the shadows, would forever haunt her. And there would always be the faces of those she loved forever frozen in death imprinted on her mind; her father, mother, Oriana, Oren, Gilmore, Lady Landra, and Dairren.

The man seated across the fire, Duncan - a Grey Warden - was only a further reminder of all she had escaped. Now and forever she was to be conscripted into this faction. She'd once dreamt of glory on a battle field. But with the slaughter of her innocence came an understanding of what forever was to be expected of her now.

"My lady?" his gruff voice drew her thoughts from their melancholic path.

Her deadened gaze rose from the inscribed Cousland emblem embossed into the grey iron. Shrouded in smoke, it was the reflection of the fire casting off his armor that she watched.

"This blade was forged in the service of Calenhad four centuries ago," she murmured darkly. "My family has held onto this heirloom for so long, passing it down from generation to generation. It was to go to Fergus next when he took the teyrnship." Her arm rose as she balanced the blade before the fire, her gaze sweeping from hilt to point. "Gone."

The hilt slipped from her fingers, a cloud of dust billowing through the air as it fell to the ground.

His armor creaked as he rose and crossed the small distance between them. He crouched before her, his gauntlet hand wrapping around the hilt and lifting it. "Not gone, my lady. You and, as far as we know, Fergus yet live. The Cousland name lives strong in its youngest."

The weight of the sword in her lap dragged her gaze back down. But all she saw was a lump of steel with a name that meant little now, destroyed in a mad mans endeavor for political up rise. It all seemed so outlandish, like a dream of a dream. So surreal, as though the log she perched atop was not real, the man before her fantasy. She stared at the outline of Cousland Castle, veiled in mist in the far distance. The flickers of the blaze consuming her home could be seen for miles.

Her shoulders drooped as she dropped her head into the palms of her hands. With the pressure of escaping, she hadn't been given a single moment to process. And as she sat wrapped in the chilled fog, she knew not where to begin.

"You should rest," his voice sounded once more as he rose from her side and crossed back to his plot of land. "We have quite the trek before us."

With her chin resting upon her knees, she gazed out across the fire at this seasoned warrior. Did death mean nothing to him anymore? Sleep seemed... impossible. She watched in silence as he unstrapped his curved dagger and set it upon his bedroll, next his sword, both placed within inches of where she imagined he would rest his head. Was this to be her life now? Protecting herself by sleeping with her blades? Would she ever know peace again?

She watched as he settled himself, flat on his back with his arms crossed above his chest as he stared at the swirling clouds above.

With Cousland Castle still visible in the distance, there was no chance of her sleeping tonight. But she didn't voice these concerns to the Grey Warden.

She cast her gaze out towards the nearby forest. Were Howe's men hidden within the safety of the thick canopy, simply waiting for the opportune moment? An itch slowly began to creep under her stained chainmail as she imagined hundreds of eyes staring out from the shrouded trees.

Her sigh slipped through the night air as she lowered down onto the sodden ground, her back pressed against the rotten log. She drew her cloak around her shoulders, hoping to chase off the frigid chill. A familiar weight settled against her thigh and absently, she dropped a hand down onto the broad shoulders of her mabari, casting a gentle smile down on him. Resigning to her sleepless fate, she simply stared ahead, lost to her thoughts. It was in that position the Grey Warden would wake and find her in the morning.

* * *

><p>The fortress looming before her was larger than anything she could have imagined. It seemed fitting somehow that this was to be where the army would make their stand. A ruin straddling a narrow pass, it was the final salvation for Ferelden. If breeched, the darkspawn would cast her homeland into eternal darkness. It was certainly different now than anything her history books had ever depicted. Soldiers clad heavily in their silver armor lined the exterior entrance perched amongst lustrous flags billowing in the faint breeze.<p>

"Duncan!" a booming voice shook out over the land.

Her gaze slid towards a rather large man, pleasant enough, with golden armor gleaming under the hue of the sun.

"Your majesty," Duncan acknowledged him with a simple nod.

She might have found him attractive were it not for the way he towered over her, his cobalt eyes shining down on her.

His chuckle was smooth, much like his shoulder length hair that seemed much too blonde for her own personal taste. "Didn't expect a royal welcome? And who is this young lady? I take it this is the Grey Warden you recruited? Well met. You look familiar, have we met?" His words flowed over one another without pause.

"Aydan Cousland," she muttered brusquely.

"Another Cousland! Marvelous. You are Fergus' sister then? I have heard much about you. I am sure you wish to see him, but I'm afraid he's currently out scouting the woods. He should return within a day or two."

Her darkened gaze slid towards the Grey Warden as she unconsciously thumbed the hilt of her blade. "That will not do. I must speak with him immediately."

"I can assure you dear lady that he-"

"Forgive me your majesty," she interrupted. "But you can assure me of nothing. My brother must be made aware of the situation."

That heavy hand fell upon her shoulder and she felt the silent urge for caution. This was the king after all. But the quickened patter of her heart led her astray.

"What situation?" the king inquired.

Her shoulders stiffened as she straightened, turning to face the king. "My brother needs to be made aware of his station change."

The king paused with a profound look of confusion settling into his face. "His station change?"

"Allow me," Duncan offered. "The Highever estate was assaulted by Arl Howe, the teryn and teryna killed."

The king's eyes centered on the young woman before him, his lips curling in disgust. "This is indeed grave news. I promise you, my lady, as soon as the battle here in finished, this matter will be immediately rectified. Arl Howe will not get away with such treachery."

This was not a matter that could be _rectified_. The damage was already done, all that remained was vengeance. And her blood warmed just from the thought of it.

Her head dipped with a polite nod. Anything to move the conversation along so she could scout the woods for Fergus.

She drifted from the conversation, her nimble feet leading her towards the edge of the cliff overlooking the Ostagar bridge crumbling into the water below. And yet somehow, she simply knew, she'd have to cross it. Somewhere in that immense expanse of rock and ruin was her brother. Nothing else mattered.

Farkus' low whine sounded by her thigh as he brushed against her, his dark eyes turning up to watch her adoringly. With a gentle smile, she gave him a light pat. He was all she had left in this world, other than Fergus, if he still lived.

"Aydan," came that gravelly voice.

She cast a blank glance over her lithe shoulder, her fingers drawing the hooded cloak further down over her face. She wished to remain as anonymous as possible and hiding within the thickened shadows would guarantee that.

She paced after him, following in his wake as he began the long walk across the crumbling bridge.

"The joining can wait a little while longer," he called from the front. "I'd like for you to rest a little, take some time, learn your surroundings. When you feel ready, please seek out Alistair. He's the junior member of the Wardens and will be escorting you into the wilds. When you find him, return to me."

Her jaw rose at his words, her narrowed gaze biting into his back. "I'm to search for Fergus then?"

"No," he admitted. "Fergus will be quite unreachable until his patrol returns."

What she did in the wilds was of no business of the Grey Wardens. Once again, she kept this to herself. "Why enter the wilds at all then?"

"We'll discuss that at a later time. For now, get some rest and meet me back with Alistair."

She brushed past him as she walked off, her stride quicker and more determined than his. At the entrance, she fell to a stop and gazed about in wonder. All about her, people meandered to and from, their gazes cast to the soused ground. But it was the large tent with the Cousland emblem raised above it that called to her. Clutching at the edges of her mud encrusted cloak, she rushed towards the encampment, Fergus' name falling from her lips.

"My lady," she heard the men around her mutter as they dipped in low bows.

"My brother," she demanded harshly, turning to stare at each and every one. Cousland's all, the lot of them. There didn't appear to be any of Howe's men in sight, but caution, her father had taught her, was the way a warrior remained alive.

"Out in the wilds, my lady," one spoke up.

She turned her attention to the faded whisper of light hovering above the horizon. She loathed the idea of Fergus scouting the wilds in the dark. With her lips set into a grim line, she turned from the men. None of these men knew of the condition of Cousland Castle. And beyond that, many had families that had been employed within. But she lacked the courage to inform them of the assault, instead her gaze landing on an apparent abandoned section of the fortress. Tucking her dark tresses beneath the heavy folds of her hood, she started towards it, ignorant of the fresh mud splattering her armor.

Shoulders slumped, she climbed the small incline only to find a marble white bench perched against the fort's wall. It seemed surprising that she would manage to find somewhere quiet, but even so, she sank down onto the hardened bench. Clad, herself, in light armor, she slanted onto her side and drew her knees as far up as she could. Her lids felt heavy with exhaustion, tired enough that the discomfort of the bench meant little. As she slowly began to drift off, she took note of a mage crossing the distance. But she cared not.

The second she slipped into a slumber, her dreams were plagued with screams and shrieks for help. The sound of swords clashing and shields bashing deafened her. She could feel the blaze of the fire warm upon her skin, the acrid stench of burning bodies surrounding her. And the entire time, the warmth of her mother's presence at her side as she fought through torrents of men to reach her father.

It was to his pale and slackening face that she awoke abruptly, vaguely aware of the heavy hand gently shaking her shoulder. With a startled gasp flowing past her lips, her fingers latched onto the hilt of her dagger and drew it. A single breath later, she was blinking up into a familiar face, his amber eyes wide in shock as she pressed the sharp blade against his flesh.

"Hold!" she heard his voice but the sounds of war still echoed through her.

As the sounds faded, she took note of the man she held against the wall, his hands held out to her in peace, his lips parted in horror.

"My apologies," she grumbled, her fingers releasing their grip as she canted back, sliding her dagger into its hidden sheath.

"All's forgiven," the man murmured, his own fingers loosening the collar around his neck. "The day isn't complete without _someone_ trying to kill me."

She blinked blankly. He seemed familiar enough even though she could have sworn she'd never met him before. There was nothing spectacular about him, other than the brilliantly warm amber eyes staring down at her.

"Have we met?" he questioned.

She shook her head, errant dark strands of hair tumbling about her shoulders as she did.

"Odd," he mused. "Normally I know of the people who want me dead."

"I said I was sorry," she snapped darkly. "You startled me."

"Evidently," he gave a smooth chuckle. "You're not a mage are you?"

A finely toned brow arched over her eye. "No."

"Hmm," he hummed as his gaze swept over her. Her fingers twitched at her side as she struggled not to draw her blade once again. "Clearly not a sister of the Chantry and obviously not a soldier."

Her sigh was sharp. "My name is Aydan Cousland."

"Ah," he lit up. "The third recruit. My apologies for not recognizing you. Duncan mentioned he was bringing someone back with him."

"Which would make you Alistair."

He beamed at her. "That I am. I'm the one that's going to deliver you safely from the wilds."

"Yes," she replied, unimpressed. "That's what Duncan said."

Silence crept amongst them. There was still something familiar about him, something she couldn't place her finger on. Attractive enough, there was something pleasant about his mouth, the way his lips curved when he spoke, as though the entire world were nothing but a joke to him. A light beard darkened his jaw, giving a haggard look about him. But it was the glow of the sun cast upon his hair that drew her attention. As though he radiated the warmth of the sun. For a brief moment she felt as though he were someone she could trust. But in the next second, her memories came crashing down upon her, reminding her why she was in this situation.

"Well, if you're done trying to kill me, perhaps I should take you to Duncan now?" the junior Grey Warden suggested, those damned lips curving crookedly. Her gaze narrowed as she watched him. But without another word, she gave him a simple nod and allowed him to take the lead.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

With passion'd breath does the darkness creep.  
>It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep<p>

* * *

><p>Alistair<p>

Was that... blood? His calloused hands fumbled at his throat, but the skin remained flawless and unmarred. He cast a hesitant glance towards the young woman stalking next to him. At first, he thought to reanalyze that speculation but from the sour look turning her features, he was quite right. After the mage had swept away, his irritated grumbles echoing through the courtyard, he'd heard pained murmurs coming from a bench pressed against the wall. A woman, _this_ woman, had lay curled in a loose ball, clearly asleep. He knew from the clenched fingers and tense shoulders her dreams were not of the pleasant sort. Knowing a little of bad dreams, he'd opted to wake her. In retrospect, it had been quite a foolish decision. His fingers danced to his throat once more, rubbing away the feel of her poisoned blade pressed against his flesh. When he'd commented that not a day passed without someone trying to kill him, it hadn't been entirely true. In fact, the last time someone had tried to kill him was... well he couldn't think of anything beyond the darkspawn and that seemed only natural.

Her heavy sigh punctured the awkward silence that had developed between them. "Would you stop fidgeting? I barely laid a hand on you."

True, she'd laid two in fact, but with the whisper of the sword strapped to her side, that seemed unhealthy to point out.

He forced his hand down to his side, lest the woman grow impatient and decided to finish the job.

"For someone supposedly renowned for killing darkspawn, one wouldn't think such a little thing as a blade to his throat would be all that disconcerting," she hissed.

"It's not," he snapped. "It's just... itchy."

"There's not even a scratch," she grumbled.

He slanted another cursory glance her way. He'd taken note earlier of her filthy cloak but as she moved, he realized it was far worse than he'd originally thought. Her hem was six inches deep with mud, her hood covered in what appeared to be soot. But it was the liberal amounts of blood drying into the wools that concerned him.

"What?" she snapped, obviously aware of his apt stare. She spun on a heel, those brilliant blue eyes he'd taken note of up on the dais shimmering out from beneath the shadows of her hood.

"What?" he repeated foolishly.

Her lips curved down, those eyes hardening. "You're staring."

"Oh, am I?"

Her fingers fumbled at the cinch against her neck, drawing her cloak tighter against her curves.

"Perhaps you should direct your gaze elsewhere."

Her words dripped with an obvious threat and he found himself struggling once again against touching his throat. Flashes of his life flickered before his eyes as a cold chill swept over him. A bemused, but startled laugh slipped past his lips. It had been a very long time since he'd thoroughly felt intimidated by someone. Oh yes, this recruit was perfect. It was a wonder Duncan hadn't found her before. After all Highever was where he claimed to hail from.

"Do I amuse you?" she demanded in a low voice.

"Maker, no," he chuckled daftly. "You terrify me."

Her lips parted with what he was sure would result in a verbal lashing, but without a word, she spun, the edges of her cloak brushing against his side, and she stormed off in an entirely different direction.

Well aware of the danger, should she turn, he couldn't help his sweeping gaze as his eyes ran over her lithe form. A fleeting thought had him wondering just how many weapons were concealed within that cloak. He cocked a hip and watched, his lips curling with amusement. Men in every direction were snapping to attention as she stalked by, their eyes forward and fists pressed loyally against their chest.

"Something you said?" a familiar voice roused Alistair's attention.

He turned, welcoming Duncan with a friendly smile, aware of the rather weighty mabari seated lazily next to him."More than likely."

Duncan's gaze shifted over Alistair's shoulder. "I would advise against upsetting her."

Another chuckle slid amongst them. "Yes, I think I've already learned that particular lesson. Quite harrowing, that woman is. I think I just very nearly died."

"Many have in her wake, you wouldn't be the first."

"Lovely," he grimaced, his attention shifting down to the rising mabari. He'd always longed for his own and he stared into the intelligent dark eyes, he was only reminded as to why. "Couldn't find us someone pleasant this time?"Alistair teased.

He crouched before the dog, his fingers only inches from scratching behind his ears when a low growl sounded. Seconds before the dog's jaws gnashed together, Alistair managed to draw all five digits back to his side.

"What is with everyone today?" he scoffed, rising slowly as he glared crossly at the beast.

Duncan's laughed darkly. "Alistair, I'd like for you to meet Farkas."

"Another recruit?" he mumbled sullenly.

"Not quite."

"Then where is his master?"

Duncan's jaw jut forward, his hand falling gently upon the dog's head. "You just scared her off."

"Maker," he groaned as he dragged his hand down his stubbled face. He followed Duncan's gaze to find the woman crouched low against a wall cradling a thick tome. With a low huff, the mabari stalked past them both and slowly approached her, his massive body slanting up against her as he sat and watched Alistair intently.

"Well, what's her story?" he questioned. After all, every Grey Warden seemed to have one. So few were lining up these days as recruits. Much of the time, Duncan had to track them down. "Or is this finally a willing recruit?"

Something shifted in the center of his chest as he watched her arm lope around the mabari's neck and draw him in. When she buried her face into his thick neck, Alistair straightened. It wasn't until she drew the cloak across her face that he realized she was wiping away tears.

Duncan's sigh brought his thoughts back to the present. "She is a Cousland."

Alistair gave a nod, having already learned that scrap of information.

"It was lucky for her that I arrived when I did; otherwise I fear she would have shared the fate of her parents."

"Well now, that doesn't sound good."

"It's not. Howe decided this to be the opportune time to lay siege on the Cousland Castle. I barely managed to help her escape."

Alistair turned to his mentor, noting the grueling condition of his armor. But it wasn't the first time he'd seen him as such.

"There is another issue that has presented itself," Duncan murmured as he sidled up to Alistair, his own gaze stretched across the courtyard towards the youngest Cousland. "I've recently been informed that the scouting party, including Fergus Cousland, has failed to report."

HIs low groan was barely audible as his weight shifted back to keep Lady Cousland in view. In the short span of time that he'd turned to Duncan, the two had settled before a large tent emblazed with the Cousland heraldry. The rigid mabari had dropped to his stomach, his rather massive paws stretched out before him. As for Cousland, she now lay tucked into his side, her hood drawn fully over her face to block the light, he assumed. She'd drawn her knees as close to her chest as she could, her blade clutched tightly within her hand, her fingers wrapped possessively around the hilt. Tucked into her chest was the large tome. It was that in which she had curled around protectively.

"She's been rather determined to find her brother. I think it goes without saying this bit of information will not sit well with her. She seems on the edge enough," Duncan informed him in a quiet voice.

"So who's the lucky person who gets to tell her?" he asked with a soft sigh.

"I will do it."

"Good." The relief in his voice was obvious.

"Scared of the new recruit?" Duncan teased, his large hand clapping down on Alistair's shoulder.

But it wasn't her blades that frightened him, it was the imminent reaction. Never having done well around a crying woman, it was the threat of tears that had his palms clamming up.

"In the meantime, perhaps you should collect Jory and Daveth. The battle is nearing and we will need all the Grey Wardens we can get."

Alistair's head bowed before he turned to find the two other recruits.

* * *

><p>Aydan<p>

As still as she might have lain, she couldn't seem to drift off. There was simply too much happening around her. With every creak of armor, or deep voice, her heart leapt into her throat. It was only a matter of time, she told herself, before Fergus would return. And when he did, everything would be perfect. The chasm of loneliness and anguish gnawing through her gut would vanish and maybe she'd feel a semblance of humanity once again. She had his journal, he _would_ return for that. Since they were infants, he'd always carried it with him wherever he went. Many a time she'd snuck into his room in search of his secrets, to be bested each and every time by his wit. Fergus had always been the clever one, she the brute and warrior. The smallest hint of a smile curved her lips as her fingers caressed the engraved letters scrawled across the leather front. Even with the book clutched tightly in her grasp, she had no desire to crack its mysteries.

The sound of someone approaching set her pulse aflame once more. From the edge of her hood, she watched the silver boots. From the splatter of blood darkening the fronts, she knew them to be Duncan's. Fergus had always worn chainmail and these were silver.

"Aydan," he called down to her.

For a moment she remained silent, the energy required to respond to him lacking.

"I know you're awake."

She relinquished hold on her brother's journal for a brief moment to draw back the hood and stare up at the hardened man hovering above her.

"Alistair has gone to fetch the other recruits. We need to prepare for the joining now."

Farkas' chest rumbled beneath her head as he released a slow growl.

"Hush," she cautioned him as she wearily pushed to her feet, sliding her blade back through the sheath. Her eyes lingered on the text. She had no pack, no gear, and no tent, nowhere to store any belongings. Moreover, she loathed the idea of leaving behind her brother's journal. It seemed too personal to do so.

"There is something we must discuss however, before we leave to meet them," he continued, stepping back as she rose. "It is about your brother."

Her eyes snapped to his, her fingers tightening on the tome. "What of Fergus?"

"I'm afraid he hasn't reported in when expected."

Her skin went cold with his words, her heart madly beating in her chest. "What… what does that mean?" her words were stuttered as she struggled to understand.

"Aydan," he murmured.

"No, what does that mean?" her voice rose.

"It means that as of this moment, your brother is listed as missing."

Resolve settled in the pit of her stomach. "I will find him."

"Be that as it may, your first priority is to prepare for the joining."

She gave a brusque nod, clever enough at the very least to sort things out on her own. The joining meant the Wilds, the Wilds meant Fergus.

"Then lead the way," she grumbled.

"Aydan," he sighed. "Need I remind you…?"

"Yes," she snapped. "The joining is the priority. I believe you've mentioned that already more than once."

She stared up into his brown eyes, shocked when the expression on his face reminded her dearly of her father. Stern yet concerned. Her father had worn that look many a day when she was in his presence. Always worried with where her thoughts might have strayed to, what trouble she was planning next. And then he'd murmur her name, quite in the same fashion Duncan just had, with a hint of amusement. Tears sprang to her eyes as her heart sank in her chest with the realization.

Her fingers curled into the palms of her hands, the pain driving away the unwanted memories.

"Come," he finally commented, his heel spinning in the dirt as he led her towards the bonfire where three shrouded figures awaited.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Soldiers no longer; they were Grey Wardens

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

The expanse of trees appeared to stretch for miles, further than she could see. Who knew what lay within the dense fog perpetually surrounding the Wilds? A musky scent of swamp came from the north, the same direction where she was positive she'd heard the howls of wolves. The two men at her back had stiffened, the third - Alistair - remained calm and collected. As for herself, the wolves bothered her not, nor did the scent of decay and rot coming from the swamp. It was the fear of stumbling over Fergus that held her shoulders tight. Of course, there was also the fear that she _wouldn't_.

Reeds swayed in the breeze as they slowly marched along an edge of a marsh. Her fingers grazed against the bark of a nearby tree, her gaze sweeping overly the wet land, searching for any sign of Fergus. But there were no tracks to be found among the saturated ground. With every step, she sank in to her ankles, the hole immediately sealing with her next step. It would be near impossible now to track Fergus and her soul died a little once she realized it.

She rubbed a lightly armored hand across her brow, pushing back her mop of damp hair. The humidity was utterly horrible. Tiny beads of sweat formed at the nape of her neck and slid under her collar. And sadly, the breeze did nothing to alleviate any discomfort.

"Be on your guard," the Grey Warden murmured, his voice cautious.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing dangerously. What sort of guide was he; hiding in the back, allowing the three recruits to take lead. Was that the way of the Grey Wardens? Did he know no leadership? As for the other two, they hovered just slightly before him, determined looks set upon their faces but obviously lacking the fortitude to attempt anything beyond simply watching. She turned her attention back towards the impending swamps, her jaw tightening. It seemed the three fearless men would rather she take the lead. And with a crooked smile, she realized that was fine by her. She would lead, and find Fergus.

The moment she took a step east, the Grey Warden shuffled closer, the grating sound of him clearing his throat setting her nerves on end.

"I'm rather positive the cache we're searching for is to the north."

She set her eyes upon the land, a fragment of metal flashin dully in the bare hint of light. "_You're _searching for, you mean," she responded.

"No, I'm quite sure I mean 'we'. You are a Grey Warden now also."

She remained silent on that, ignoring the rush of anger spilling through her. It seemed everyone was of the mind frame that being a Grey Warden meant forgetting about everything that was once important.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt as she took another step towards the east, her gaze fixated on the metal shard.

"Aydan," Alistair called. "We need to head north. This is not the time to take idle walks through the Wilds. We have a job to do."

She spun in the muck, the wet edges of her cloak slapping against his armor. "Then go. Fulfill your job and allow me to do the same."

"Aydan-" his disappointment hung in the air.

"Stop saying my name like that," she snapped, turning away and lowering to reach for the metal. A fleck of a shield, she realized, but whether or not it was Fergus', she had no idea.

"What are you doing?" he demanded as he crouched next to her.

"I am searching for my brother. His party was sent to scout out here and I need to find him."

"Your brother?" he repeated, his warm eyes flashing to her face. "Your brother has been reported missing. I hardly doubt we will find him out here."

A low hiss escaped her lips. "And you feel that means I should simply stop looking?"

She rose from the sodden ground, the metal hunk clutched in her hand. Off in the distance, she caught site of another. She took a few steps, struggling against the suction of the land pulling her down. The sound of his armor was rushed behind her and suddenly a large hand gripped her arm and spun her.

She stumbled into his rather large chest, having not expected him to man handle her. It was to an aggravated face that she stared up.

"Aydan, we have a job to do. We must find the treaties. As a Grey Warden, your priority must be this."

She cast a glance around the expanse of his shoulders to find both Jory and Daveth hovering by the trees a few hundred meters back.

"Release me," she ordered, her words clear and concise, tired of being preached to about priorities. Her priorities were not the same as theirs it seemed. Hers was forever to her family.

"I will not. You need to listen to me," he replied, his tone growing heated.

"You're mistaken. The only thing I _need _to do, is find my brother."

"Maker's breath," Alistair huffed, his fingers contracting painfully against her arm. "We don't have time for this! Don't you understand? We're standing in the middle of the Kocari Wilds. At any moment now we could be attacked by attacked by Darkspawn, or Maker forbid it, Chasind. We need to get what we've come for and get out before it's too late."

She turned dead eyes up to the man who towered over her. "Now you understand why I must find Fergus."

She wrenched her arm out of his grasp, noting the flash of ire darkening his pupils.

"You're not a Cousland anymore, Aydan!" he suddenly snapped as she gained distance.

She froze, her steps pausing midstride. Upon hearing his words she couldn't see or think straight. It was simply rage coursing through her. She spun on her heel, nearly tumbling over as she struggled towards him.

"Have you ever lost someone you loved?" she demanded, enraged and irrational as she pushed against him, her chest nearly flush with his.

"I don't see how-"

"No you wouldn't!" she cried, her voice the only sound beyond that of the shifting branches in the breeze. "None of you see. None of you understand! Because none of you have lost all that was important to you in a single night. He is my _brother_, Alistair. Grey Warden or not. He is my only remaining vestige of family. And I _will _find him, with or without you."

Silence crept amongst the two as their gazes connected. She felt him weighing her words, watched the thoughts spinning through his mind. Finally, he gave a brisk nod and signalled to Jory and Daveth.

"We have until nightfall. We _must_ be back in Ostagar with the rise of the moon. The cache is to the north, along with the darkspawn that I am sensing. We can search in this direction for awhile, if this is where you feel he'd be. We will even help, so long as you promise that we will be back on course and finishing _our _task before the sun begins to fall."

She heard his words and knew it was the best offer she was ever going to get. And four would certainly allow for more ground coverage than one. Nodding, she turned and gave him her back, starting back towards the second fragment of metal she'd caught site of. She could feel them at her back, following in her wake. The moment he came flush at her side, she gazed at him from beneath her lashes.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly.

He appeared startled, wide eyes flicking down to her. Then with a shrug, he pressed forwards. "Seemed quicker than arguing with you the entire time."

She knew he was struggling to find humor but not even a smile cracked her lips. She simply pressed forwards, tracking the trail of shattered weaponry.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

She hadn't spoken a single word since that decrepit hut. Those two witches had shown much interest in her and it was with them only she held a conversation, if conversation was the right word. A few one-worded sentences did not typically define a conversation, but it was more than he'd been able to get out of her since stumbling across the injured soldier. Apparently assigned to the same scouting party as one Fergus Cousland, the news did not sound promising. The moment the soldier informed her of the attack, this Cousland had slowly begun to spiral into a downwards state of depression and angst. Even now, she stalked next to him, those bright eyes dull and lifeless. He'd tried to offer condolences, but whenever he spoke, she merely quickened her pace, leaving him in her dust.

The news was not good. Apparently the scouting party had come across a small battalion of darkspawn, thought to be spying on Ostagar. The soldier claimed they stood not a chance and that he was the only one to escape. She had offered him bandages, but Alistair had recognized symptoms in the man that no other would even know to look for. Graying skin and bloodshot eyes; the man had been stricken by the blight. With the news, four pairs of eyes had turned up to him, their ignorance utterly reassuring. His words had been calm, but the regret was audible. This man would die, as many had before him. And while Alistair knew of only one way to save him, the Grey Wardens did not take men out of pity. They chose their ranks through skill and this man lacked all talent necessary and most likely the strength to survive the joining. For a brief moment, Alistair agonized over doing the right thing and putting the man out of his misery, but he was further gone than any had suspected. After Aydan had withdrawn all information she could from him, he'd passed. It was Alistair's blade slicing cleanly through his neck which kept him from becoming something horrid.

The large wooden gate loomed over them. Darkness had just fallen, they had returned in time, regardless of the little side adventure the youngest Cousland had taken them on. The guards called out a welcome and slowly, the doors creaked out, allowing them passage. Duncan's bonfire stood like a beacon in the distance, the smoke drifting towards the clouds.

"Perhaps you should all take a few moments, gather your things, and prepare yourself for the joining. In one hour time, find us up on the dais overlooking the mage quarters," Alistair informed them, pointing out the white marbled podium he'd met Aydan earlier in the day.

Daveth and Jory sounded their acknowledgment, before altering their directions towards the tents given to them. As for Aydan, she turned and stalked towards her brother's tent, the welcoming bark of her mabari bringing a smile to his lips.

Alistair turned and headed towards the bonfire. Duncan stood alone, the firelight flickering across his armor.

"Well?" he asked.

"Acquired the treaties," Alistair informed him. "I also managed to obtain the vials."

"What took so long?"

Alistair's lips set into a grim line. "Aydan decided to take a stroll through the woods."

"I see. Did she find anything of interest?"

"Interest enough I suppose. She found one of the scouting party members. They'd been ambushed. He was the only to survive. Although not for long. The blight took him."

"Perhaps this was for the best then," he stated as he rose from the log, holding his hands out to the fire. "We need her focused. If Fergus is gone, this might allow for her to put this mess behind her and move on."

Alistair didn't know what to say to that. He remembered her words out in the woods about how he was the only family she had left. He couldn't see her simply moving on. Sometimes he believed Duncan to have been a Grey Warden for too long.

"And what did you think of our recruits?" Duncan questioned.

"Decent enough. The knight from Redcliffe seems a slight bit nervous about the ritual; he's been asking a lot of questions. The other two, Daveth and Aydan, seem prepared and ready."

"And their skills?"

Alistair turned, bringing the Cousland encampment into his sights. "She clearly has been trained a warrior. I think she'd even give you a run for your money."

Duncan's lips curved upwards. "Is that a fact?"

"She is quite focused and aware of everything on the battlefield. Her father taught her well. Jory is as skilled as one would expect a knight. And Daveth is as skilled as one might expect from a thief."

"It matters not where they come from, Alistair," Duncan cautioned him. "Only if they can be of assistance. The Grey Wardens do not look down on any help offered."

It wasn't the first time he'd had this preached to him, so he simply nodded. "All three will be great additions."

"That was my belief as well," he stated, holding his hands out to Alistair and taking the vials from him. "I will go and prepare now. Stay with the recruits until I come to you."

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

She stared dejectedly down on his possessions. His bedroll, blankets, pile of filthy clothing tossed lazily in the corner of the tent, and papers lining the floor. He'd apparently been reading a former letter from Oriana. Aydan's eyes were drawn to the bottom of the page where a light kiss had been pressed against the parchment.

Her armor was stiff as she lowered down and plucked the letter from the floor. It seemed wrong for it to simply lay there. Careful to follow the already existing creases, she folded it back up and slid it beneath the cover of his journal. Once more she felt the threat of tears and once again, she battled them back. She would not cry. She hadn't yet and she would _not_ allow herself to succumb to it. For once she started, she doubted she'd be able to stop.

Her fingers caressed the covers of his bedroll. Alistair had said to gather their things, but she had none. With a sigh and a bowed head, she reached for her brother's gear and slowly began to pack it up. The armor, of course, would not fit her, but his personal possessions she could make use of. She reached for the sack she had purchased from the quartermaster and slowly began to roll up his things. She couldn't take much, but the bedroll and blankets would come in handy. She also reached for the spare blade she felt resting against the side of the tent. The last thing to slide within the bag was his journal and letter from Oriana. The added weight was miniscule and she would not leave them behind. The clothing she left, knowing well enough the army would make use of it. Beyond that, nothing remained.

With her hour waning into its last minutes, she approached the door and turned, whispering a final prayer beneath her breath that her brother find his way to their parents.

"Aydan?" a voice came from beyond the tent.

She turned, a single tear slipping down her porcelain cheek. With an angry huff, she brushed it away and glanced up to find Alistair watching her.

"We're ready now."

She dipped her head in recognition and followed after him, slinging the pack up over her shoulder.

"Good luck, child," she heard a withered voice comment.

She cast a quick glance over to find an aged mage smiling warmly down on her. It was that which made her lift her head and gaze around. All around her soldiers had gathered, men with inscrutable looks etched into their faces. When she turned, her own men, all Couslands had congregated as well, their fists pressed against their heart, bowing their heads to her. From the saddened eyes and grim looks, she knew they'd been told.

"We are Couslands," she spoke quietly to them. "We do what must be done."

A gentle graze against her hand brought her attention back to the front where Alistair looked down on her with a gentle smile. "Come," he murmured.

With a nod, she followed after him, the cheers of her people chasing her up the podium. It lifted the heavy weight above her heart for but a moment before settling back in when she found Duncan standing off to the side, a large goblet held tenderly within his hands. Daveth and Jory already stood before him.

With her approach, Duncan gave a short nod. "We only speak a few words before the joining. Alistair if you would?"

He stepped away from her side, shadowing Duncan, and then spoke with his head bowed and hands crossed before his waist. "Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you parish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day _we_ shall join you."

The words echoed hauntingly.

"Daveth, step forward," Duncan ordered, handing him the etched goblet.

The moment he tipped it up towards his lips, Aydan took a protective step forward. Darkness swirled within, a drink so putrid its scent curled her stomach from back here. But before she could reach him, he'd swallowed deeply and lowered the goblet. She watched, her stare intent as nothing happened. Just as her shoulders began to relax, Daveth seized, his hands clutching anxiously at his throat as he sputtered for air. And yet, neither Alistair nor Duncan made a single move towards him. Even in the inky darkness, she could see Jory's widened, fearful gaze. And when Daveth fell, eyes staring blankly at the heavens above, she knew he had died.

She staggered back, her fingers trembling at her lips. Distantly she was aware of a ruckus, someone was shouting, and the distinct sound of a blade being drawn sliced through her. And yet she couldn't tear her gaze away from the soldier sprawled on the ground, his skin darkening, the fetid stench of death already emanating from him.

"Aydan, you are called upon to submit yourself to the taint," she heard that voice speak, the darkened goblet suddenly hovering before her. She lifted her eyes to find another body slumped against the wall, a sword pitted through his center.

For some reason unbeknownst to her, she found her eyes shifting to Alistair. He stood morbidly still. And then, with a grim look set upon his face, he nodded, gesturing towards the goblet. She knew from the looks of Jory that it was death either way for her. It was simply a matter of method.

She turned a steely glance up to Duncan and nodded, her fingers wrapping around the chilled chalice. Her entire family was already dead and she was the last remaining Cousland. This did nothing to inspire courage from her. Instead it was the men down below, still cheering for her that roused her spirits. And if she were to parish, as Alistair had so eloquently put it, it would be to her parents that she would go. She would see Fergus once again, and her little Oren.

A soft smile came to her mouth as she accepted her fate. There were worse things than death, she surmised as her lips touched the hardened rim, the rancid scent assaulting her nose. And if death was her destiny today, she would walk into it bravely.

She tipped back the chalice and choked back the fowl contents. The very last sight was that of Alistair and Duncan nearing her before she collapsed to the ground, a shriek so horrifying piercing her soul.

* * *

><p>AN: I know I added some things with Fergus that weren't in the game, but I always hated that the youngest Cousland would go from an assault on her estate to 'Oh, I'm to be a Grey Warden? Cool, all's forgotten until I come across Howe later in the game' haha I figured if it were me, I'd be pretty upset.

Thanks to everyone! I hope everyone is enjoying the story. And thanks to the reviewers as well :)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
>From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.<br>Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
>In my arms lies Eternity<p>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

Flashes of bluish fire blistered her skin, all emanating from a shrouded form so large it took up the expanse of the entire night sky. Its wails shredded through her soul, yet called to her at the same time. And always beneath the piercing shriek was the hum of a song so dear to her, her entire being longed to hear more. Pain so pure stretched through her body, curling within the pit of her stomach before spreading. Never in her life could she recall ever feeling something so strong.

Large wings unfurled, spreading over her, the beasts claws shimmering in a haze of light. And with the parting of its scaled lips, it released a torrent of fire, spewing it through the air. With it came another shriek, one that echoed from her own lips.

Heat poured over her, the flames licking at her flesh, ripping it from her bones. She'd gone deaf from her own screams, but knew they still poured from her lips.

And then all fell silent. Hovering in a chasm of nothing, the pain slowly began to ebb, fading from her extremeties first, still fueled by the ache in her heart. If this was death, where was her father? Why had no one come to collect her? Did she deserve nothing more than the promise of pain and fire?

Gradually, she became aware of voices creeping up on her, whispering words of madness and speaking of some taint. And rightly so. Her heart was tainted, stained by the death of so many she loved. And yet, with the talk of a joining she knew this was not what they referred to.

"I'll take her," she heard a familiar voice, yet there was no face placed to it. Strong arms looped under her knees and shoulders, lifting her smoothly without a single break in stride. "Maker, she's tiny."

A low chuckle echoed through her ears. It was strange to be so aware and yet unable to move or act. Even now she willed the strength to return to her limbs without avail. She lay, like a sack, in some man's arms as he carried her off to Maker knows where.

"No longer afraid of the youngest Cousland?" another voice questioned.

Cousland, yes that was who she was. With that admonishment, sense slowly returned to her. The joining, that was what they'd spoken of, a ritual in which she had taken into herself the essence of the darkspawn.

"Not so terrifying when she's unconscious," that other voice commented smoothly.

"I'd imagine not. Try not to let it go to your head, lest you forget why we are here."

The voices were fading once more, retreating away from the impending darkness. She knew sleep when it came for her, and she knew enough to fear it. With sleep came the promise of dreams. And with dreams, came nightmares. And as dearly as she might have longed to see her father's face, memories of his passing were bound only to cause her more pain.

Distantly she was aware of being lowered onto a bedroll. A soft caress brushed against her cheek, but seconds later, she drifted off into a comatose slumber, one not of her will.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

"Well?" a commanding voice interrupted their conversation. "Did our little Cousland pass?"

Alistiar spun on his heel, his words lodging in his throat at the site of the king bearing down on them, his armor glinting in the torch light.

"She did," Duncan spoke quietly.

"Excellent! Another to add to your ranks."

The steely gaze the king was known for turned down onto Alistair but no words were spoken.

"Bring her to our meeting, won't you? I'd like to congratulate her in person."

"If you'll excuse me," Alistair commented, slipping inside the flaps of his tent. Let them speak of their politics and secret meetings. He wanted nothing to do with that.

Remembering there was a woman tucked within his bedroll, he came to a stop within the center of his tent, staring down at her. With eyes as blue as hers, he'd been surprised when he found her hair to be as dark as night. And now, he found his gaze lingering on it fanned across his pillow.

There now, she wasn't so terrifying when sleeping. It surprised him just how light she'd been. Awake, as determined and angry as she was, she seemed twice the size. Even now she seemed so small, tucked into his bed, her body for once in a state of relaxation.

Or so he'd thought. From the constriction of her fingers and the sudden tossing of her head, it seemed safe to assume otherwise. Nightmares were to be expected, a lovely side effect of the joining. Typically, another Grey Warden would wake their comrad. But Alistair knew sleep was important after the joining. It allowed the body to heal. And after ingesting much darkspawn blood, a great deal of healing was necessary.

Duncan had placed her pack by the flaps. Alistair glanced towards it, noting that tome from earlier had slipped out and fallen open on its side. Ignoring the friendly voices just outside his tent, he stooped down and swept it up, meaning to secure it back within her pack when the embossed letters across the front drew his eye.

Cousland, it read in script, with a white laurel wreath underlining the name. The leather was soft and supple beneath his touch, obviously of expensive make. He would expect no less of a Cousland. But the question remained was the book hers or her brothers?

He flicked a cursory glance back up to the bedroll. She seemed as deeply asleep as before, her fingers now clenched tightly within the covers. He cast his gaze back down on the leather cover about to close it and return it, when his fingers brushed against something soft. His curiosity peaking, he turned it over.

The yellowed parchment showed it's age, flecks of dirt marking it. But what caught his breath was the beautifully painted charcoal portraits of what he would assume was the entire Cousland family. His gaze roamed over an image of Aydan. She stood leaning against a wooden fence, her eyes staring off in the distance. Somehow the artist had captured a perfect moment it seemed, her hair flowing in a non-existent breeze. He hadn't seen her so casual yet, had no idea that her hair even fell in waves past her back. But what drew his attention was the shadowing darkening her face as though she'd been caught during a serious thought. The tips of his fingers brushed against the parchment as he took note of the light leathers she wore with thick straps and ties holding it all in place. It was as though the image rose off the paper and spoke to him.

"Remarkable," he whispered to himself.

He could only assume this to be Fergus' journal. The fingerprints staining the edges of the parchment were too large for Aydan. He had painted her as only a brother could. And beneath the portrait was a fine ink, with neat little letters spelling 'the real Aydan Cousland'.

"What do you think you are doing?" an irate voice hissed from across the tent. "And where am I?"

Alistair leapt from his crouch and slammed the cover shut, turning to face the ire of the youngest Cousland.

"You should be sleeping," he stated wearily, the nerves within the deepest pit of his stomach once again set on their side.

The covers were thrown back viciously and she rose without even a flinch to show the pain he remembered tormenting him upon waking. And that was after a full night of sleep.

"Why?" she demanded. "So you can pilfer my possessions?"

"What?" he questioned, flicking a glance down at her pack on the ground. He had to admit this looked bad. "Oh! No. My apologies... The book was about to fall out, I was simply-"

"Butting your nose where it doesn't belong," she snapped. "Where am I?"

"Oh sorry, my tent."

An incensed blush colored her cheeks. "I'm in _your _tent?"

"Er... yes."

She hovered near him, those eyes hardening into crystals. "Care to explain why?"

Maker, he felt as though he was being interrogated by the King himself. Just as before, his palms clammed up and his heart began to hammer in his chest.

"Well the joining..." he mumbled incoherently. "And then unconscious and well..."

"So instead you carried me to _your _tent, in front of all the soldiers when I have a perfectly decent tent of my own."

"Uh... yes?"

She glared heatedly up at him and he wondered if she was aware that once again she was thumbing her blades.

"Ah, that was quick," Duncan's voice came from just beyond the flaps. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to rest more?"

Alistair watched as that icy glare turned to Duncan. "You murdered Jory," she accused without even a breadth of pause.

Slowly, he lowered down to her pack, sliding the journal back within. He wasn't entirely sure Fergus had it right. It seemed _this _was the real Aydan. He wasn't sure who the carefree beautiful woman was in that painting but it certainly was not the woman standing before them.

"Yes," Duncan admitted without even blinking.

"He had a wife and child," her voice dripped with acid.

"Yes. He knew the risks coming here Aydan."

"Truly?" she hissed. "Because they weren't explained to me. I wasn't aware the Grey Wardens willingly made women widows and stole fathers from their children."

Even Alistair winced. And in defense of his mentor, spoke up. "We must protect our secrets Aydan. Surely you can see why. Jory knew too much not to submit to the taint."

She turned those heated eyes to him and he struggled not to flinch away. "So you ask him to blindly submit to being a Grey Warden, and then murder him when he learns the risk is to much for him."

Both men fell silent, Alistair unsure of what to say to diffuse the situation. But he watched the both quietly, hoping it did not amount to anything more than words.

"The threat of the blight far outweighs-"

"Do not speak to me of threats," she hissed. "You are just as bad as Howe. Treacherous and murderers, the whole lot of you."

Even Alistair felt the weight of her words. His gaze slid to Duncan to find the man had physically recoiled from her words, as sharp as a slap in the face.

With a slow nod, Duncan simply held the flaps open. "The king has requested yours and my presence at the council meeting. If you feel well enough we should leave immediately."

There was no response, simply a frigid silence as she stormed past them both and stalked off into the fogged darkness.

"Maker," Alistair murmured, his shoulders slumping with relief now that she was gone.

"I had not thought how she would react," Duncan's words were grave. "I suppose given her situation, it should have been expected."

But before Alistair could reassure him, he followed in her wake.

Andraste, how he would have loved to have met the woman in the painting.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

The atmosphere within the ruins had shifted. What had once been a calm, quiet sort of camp had become rushed and easily aggravated. People were rushing about, madly shouting how the darkspawn had been spotted in the distance. It wasn't until she heard armored boots that her gaze slid back to find three of her father's men hovering behind her.

"My Lady!" they shouted. "What should we do?"

Were Fergus or her father here they would order the men about. But she was a Grey Warden now and no longer a soldier. And it was the sight of the silver clad Warden behind her that only reminded her of her position.

"I am no longer a Cousland," she stated raucously, repeating Alistair's previous words. "Find the army and report to your commander there. That is my last order to you men."

Their steps faltered, slowing as she pulled away, stalking towards the council meeting. Why the king would wish to speak with her was beyond her. And the throbbing migraine at the vase of her skull honestly was my helping matters. She had hoped upon waking the pain would dissipate, but it only seemed greater now that she could physically move about. With every movement, her body screamed in torment, her limbs burning, her face flushed even to her own touch. Darkspawn blood was certainly not something she ever hoped to ingest again.

As she approached the table, her gaze just happened to slide up towards the dais. Her pace faltered at the sight of Jory's blood. Apparently the two bodies had been taken care of but the mess remained. A flicker of her father, mewling and crawling across the floor plagued her thoughts. She could remember the taste of smoke on the back of her tongue, the cries of the men who died fighting to protect the castle, and the feel of her father's life slipping away, his blood seeping between her fingers as she struggled to staunch the flow.

"Aydan," Duncan called, pulling her thoughts away from the past. She snapped her head towards him, taking note of the long table at the far end, complete with king and regent.

"Loghain, my decision is final. I will stand by the Grey Wardens in this assault," she heard the king sigh with irritation.

"You risk too much Cailan! The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front line."

Aydan's eyes swept over the council; a mage, a reverent mother, the king, Loghain, Duncan, and herself. What made her so special to be privy to such a meeting? And why was Alistair not granted the same honor? Or any of the other Grey Warden's for that matter.

"If that's the case," the king stated smoothly. "Perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all."

Her shoulders stiffened, everyone knew of Loghain's disgust for the Orlesians. Was the king simply trying to start an argument?

"I must repeat my protest to your fool notion that we need the Orlesians to defend ourselves," Loghain grumbled as he gave the group his back.

"It is not a fool notion. Our arguments with the Orlesians are a thing of the past… and you will remember who is king."

Silently, Aydan agreed with Loghain. A king was much too important to a nation to be fighting in the front lines, but knowing it not her place, she remained silent on the issue. He was a grown man, leader of a country. Who was she to tell him what to do?

"How fortunate," Loghain sniped. "Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden to those who enslaved us for a century!"

"Well then," Cailan responded, an eager smile twisting his lips as he turned back to the map spread across the table. "Our current forces will have to suffice, won't they? Duncan, are your men ready for battle?"

He dark gaze settled upon her, his lips offering a tiny smile of encouragement. "They are your majesty."

"Ah, our newest Grey Warden, one Aydan Cousland. I understand congratulations are in order," the king surmised.

She simply shrugged. There didn't seem much to be proud of. She'd survived. Apparently it was what she excelled at. "I certainly do not _feel_ all that special."

"Oh, but you are!" he exclaimed, excitement lighting up his features like a young boy. "Every Grey Warden is needed now more than ever."

And yet, two had died just hours before.

"Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality."

"Fine," Cailan huffed. "Speak your strategy. The Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our lines and then…?"

The way he posed the question to Loghain, Aydan did not feel all that inspired. Reckless this man seemed, and quite the glory hound that Loghain spoke of. As those sensing where her thoughts had strayed, the regent himself glanced up at her. Their eyes connected for a brief moment. She wasn't sure what he saw, but finally he gave a small nod and turned back to the king.

"You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signaling my men to charge from the tower."

"Yes, to flank the darkspawn, I remember. This is the Tower of Ishal in the ruins, yes? Who shall light this beacon?"

"I have a few men stationed there," Loghain murmured as his gaze once again swept over Aydan. She watched curiously their interactions. Clearly the king was bowing to the experience of the General and she was thankful for that. All knew the story of Loghain, to have the armies in his care, well, it was better than simply this king's. "It's not a dangerous job, but it _is_ vital."

"Then we should send our best. Send Alistair and the newest Warden to make sure it's done."

So she was to be referred to as Warden now? Apparently Alistair had been right when he'd informed her she was no longer a Cousland. Duncan's hand fell upon her shoulder, drawing her back before she'd even realized she'd moved towards the table. They wished to send two Grey Wardens to complete such a medial task such as lighting the tower? That was an errant task, one meant for a messenger, or a single soldier. If all the Grey Warden's were needed, it made no sense to keep them from the front lines, where they belonged.

Her lips parted, the gauntleted hand squeezing lightly to remind her who she was speaking with.

"Sire," she began. "This seems…" she faltered, noting the quick glance from the regent and king. She saw the determination within Cailan's face and knew nothing she said would change matters. "I'll… we'll do our best, Majesty."

"You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?" Loghain demanded.

An exasperated sigh shifted through the air. "Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain. Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they're from. Beyond which, this is a Cousland. Who better to trust this task to?"

"Majesty," Duncan commented, stepping forward. _Ah, now Duncan would say something_, Aydan thought. _Tell him what a fool he's being_. "You should consider the possibility of the archdemon appearing."

_Or not_.

"There have been no signs of dragons in the Wilds," Cailan stated with a dismissive wave.

"I… yes, your Majesty."

"This plan will suffice," Loghain determined. "The Grey Wardens will light the beacon."

"Thank you. Loghain, I cannot wait for that glorious moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the King of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil."

Aydan's eyes flashed in the dark. _This_ was the man they were entrusting their lives to? _This_ was the man that promised her redemption for her family? She doubted this man even knew how to tie his own boots. Every word betrayed him for the fool he truly was. And it broke her heart to realize the country she so desperately loved was run by such a man.

"Come," Duncan murmured next to her. "We should give Alistair the news."

Aydan stumbled after Duncan, the king's words echoing through her ears. Her father had always spoken of him in the highest regard, but in the wake of Cailan, she had a feeling many would fall.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying the story so far! But please don't forget to review! :)

I added a little more down time after the joining, it always seemed so silly that it's so painful and then up, up! There's work to be done! I figured she would need a little time to recuperate as well I'd never liked that no one said anything about Jory's death. The man had a wife and child on the way, and after the way her family was slaughtered, I've always believed she'd be a touch more upset than the game allows her to be. Yay for humanity :)

Enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Those who had sought to claim  
>Heaven by violence destroyed it. What was<br>Golden and pure turned black.  
>Those who had once been mage-lords,<br>The brightest of their age,  
>Were no longer men, but monsters<em>

__-Threnodies_ 12:1_

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

It was as obvious as the impending darkspawn assault that Alistair was upset. Gone were the infantile jokes and sparkling eyes, replaced with sour grumbles and a permanent scowl. He'd seen the same issues with Cailan's plan as she had. But it also seemed he loathed to leave Duncan's side. Once again she'd kept her thoughts to herself, listened to some inane comment about dancing the Remigold in front of the darkspawn and now stood on the edge of the bloody crumbling bridge again.

Archers lined the walls, their bows aimed precariously over the edge. There was a moment of silence in which her gaze slid to the tower looming over the bridge. At the top she could see a light room and knew that was their target. A vital job Loghain had said, but all she saw it as was a fool's errand.

"Let's go," the Grey Warden at her side growled.

She stepped onto the bridge, chasing silently after Alistair.

"Archer's ready!" she heard a soldier call. Arrows were plucked, strings drawn and the bows pointed down into the field. In the distance she heard swords clashing and men shouting. So quickly this battle had begun. And both Wardens were struggling against abandoning their task and joining the battle. It was only the voice of her father that kept her steady on course. Without Loghain's men the battle surely would be lost.

A high pitched whistle streaked through the night air. Her eyes snapped out into the darkness, tracking something large streaking towards them, lit with an intense blaze. And if she was correct in her calculations, it was barreling right towards Alistair.

His name fell from her lips, her call swallowed in the chaos. With Farkus tucked securely against her side she dove towards the Warden who was unaware of the impending destruction heading his way.

Time seemed to slow as she rushed him, the sight of the archers releasing their torrent of arrows, darkening the sky as they sailed towards their targets. It was Farkas that launched himself at the Warden, his massive paws colliding with the back of his armor. Aydan dove behind the nearest statue in time to avoid a hailstorm of rubble pelting the entire bridge. So many piteous cries crept through her ears. She closed her eyes to the memories but they remained, taunting her with their incessant attacks.

When silence once more befell them, she crawled out from behind the statue, her gaze immediately seeking her mabari and the Warden. The two seemed to have fared well enough. Farkas crawled off of Alistair, a low snarl rearing his lips.

"Pay closer attention," she snapped as she helped him regain his feet. "In case you haven't realized, there is a war happening."

"I know," he grumbled as he dusted off his armor.

"Then let's continue, shall we?"

She took point this time, hoping it would be enough to keep him alive, at least until they had a chance to light the beacon.

They made short work of crossing the bridge, ignoring the next few boulders that assaulted the bridge.

"Did you hear…" Aydan trailed off seconds before two soldiers came barreling down the ramp.

"You're Grey Wardens! You have to help us! The Tower, it's been taken!" some mage cried as they ran straight towards the Alistair and Aydan.

"Taken?" Alistair barked. "What are you taking about man?"

"The darkspawn! They came up from underneath, killed everyone inside. You have to help us! Come on!"

"Looks like it won't be such a simple task after all," Aydan sighed.

"No, apparently not."

Aydan ran a warm hand down her fevered face and with a heavy sigh, turned to face Alistair. "How do you propose we go about this?"

His gaze narrowed. "Burst through the doors and kill every last blighted creature inside."

She gave a slow nod. "The frontal assault tactic."

"Ready?" he murmured as he drew his sword but she already had hers. Her answer was a definitive step forward, her blade already clashing with that of a darkspawn's.

-O-O-O-

She struck down the final door with her armored foot, knocking it inward with an explosion of splinters.

"Frontal assault, yes," Alistair grumbled next to her. "But maybe a little more tact?"

Her words fell short when she turned towards the room and found something monstrous looming over the half devoured corpses of the men that once guarded these walls.

"Maker," she breathed, staring in horror as the beast righted, the mangled corpse slipping from between its massive claws and turned. For a moment, the small group and the beast stared at one another before finally the creature let out a thunderous roar.

"What do they feed that thing?" Alistair hissed as the other soldier took his place slightly behind him. Farkus crouched low by her heels, his lips reared as he snarled angrily at the thing across the chamber.

From the pile of flesh and bones stacked at its feet, she knew exactly what they fed it.

She heaved one last steadying breath before charging forwards, her blade clutched within her hands. The creature matched her attack, its steps closing the distance between them much quicker than she ever could. Air swirled over her head a second after she dove between its giant legs. The moment she reclaimed her balance she turned and swung with all her strength, her blade slicing cleanly through the thick skin. An incensed roar echoed through the chambers as it spun, its immense hand slapping at her. It was only with a little luck that she managed to duck out of the way. As she slid across the floor, she found Farkas tearing into the creature's ankles, Alistair hacking away at its thighs, and the Ostagar soldier hidden back behind some crates, firing off as many arrows as possible. The beast's front was riddled with metal tips.

Distracted as she was, she wasn't aware of the reaching fingers until she heard Alistair shout her name. A blur of red steel streaked towards her, knocking into her and jarring her back. Just as she recovered her balance, a cry rang out. Before her eyes, Alistair dangled from the grip of the creature, his head thrown back as his pained cries echoed through her ears.

Inside she trembled, knowing that could have been her. His shouts were deafening as the beast shook him to and fro. In the distance she heard the faint crack of his shattering bones, his immanent cry immediately following.

"Do something!" the archer called to her, his arrows apparently ineffective against its strength.

A few choice words whispered out of her lips as she took off towards the archer. Farkas continued to hack away at its legs in vain. Frontal assault, they'd agreed, and it had been successful up to now. Turning, she found the Warden slumped over in its grasp. Praying to the maker with all her will, she hoped she wasn't too late. Focusing on her blade, she leapt forward. Her toes barely connected with the crate before she launched herself off them and arced through the air, her blade shimmering in the moonlight. The moment she connected, her blade slid home, piercing the thickened hide and cleaving through its heart.

Silence.

She dropped back down to the ground, her knees bowing as she absorbed the fall. And yet still, it clutched tightly to Alistair, who hadn't moved since she'd struck.

Rivulets of dark blood streamed down its chest, splashing down on the filthy floor.

It staggered forward, its large feet narrowly missing her. Her frustration held her shoulders tight as she begged the maker for the beast to drop him. After what felt like an eternity of watching and waiting, the creature fell, the ground rumbling under its sheer weight. And as it toppled over, its fingers _finally_ released its hold and the Warden spilled out, his head lolling as he tumbled across the ground.

She hovered over him, her gaze locked onto him. That could have been her. It _would_ have been her, if he hadn't knocked her out of the way. And why in the maker had they sent the mage back to the bridge? Yes, the soldiers there needed his help more, but what had made them think they wouldn't need a healer? Staring down at the still form of Alistair, she couldn't remember. And yet, she couldn't seem to move to him. She simply stood there and stared. Gilmore had looked much like that, and even though she knew her fellow warden needed her, her thoughts betrayed her and locked her in place.

"My lady!" the soldier called, breaking through her state. "The beacon? Does it not need to be lit?"

The beacon? The words were familiar, something important, something _vital_. This hardened voice urged her into action and she dropped down next to Alistair, pulling their gear over towards them. In it, she'd placed a torch. She tore it from the pack, her fingers trembling as she struggled to light it. The flare of the fire when she finally succeeded warmed her face, but it was to Farkas that she gave it to, his nails clicking against the floor as he raced towards the beacon. She knew the moment it lit, felt its blaze across the chamber, but she not once looked up from Alistair's side, nor had she reached for him. She held her breath, waiting for his chest to rise, which thank the Maker it eventually did.

While rifling through the pack, she found nothing that would be of assistance to his condition. And as she sat, watching the shuddering rise and fall of his chest, she debated how she would get him down the four flights of stairs. While strong she might be, carrying a man twice her size was not conceivable.

These thoughts, however, were unnecessary. A high pitched whistle cut through the air. She knew it, recognized it from when Fergus had practiced with the archers, heard it earlier in the night when the archers perched on the bridge had released their barrage onto the crowd below. A hot poker suddenly bore a hole through her chest, another a second later through her sword arm.

The cry that fell from her lips was soft as she staggered forwards. Her gaze lingered on the wooden shaft protruding from her chest as a second and third sliced through her. This must have been how her father felt, his being slipping away with every drop of blood. She collapsed to her knees, her fingers brushing against the feathers. How strange it seemed, that something so small could steal something as large as her life. Her fading gaze flicked down to the Warden in front of her, so peaceful he seemed, so broken. And as her blood crept along the floor, staining his armor, she made one single last move, allowing her body to drop on top of his. If the Maker was kind, perhaps he'd let him live. But in all her experiences, the Maker was _never_ kind.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

All was silent that morning as he stood perched on the edge of the swamp just beyond the hut, a thick fog swirling thickly through the reeds. Heavy clouds blanketed the sky, an unnatural twilight cast over the land, the first of impending disease and waste. Along with the rancid stench of swamp was that of rot and rabbit stew. And beneath that was the scent of blood.

Crimson stained armor covered him, it hadn't come clean. No matter how hard he scrubbed, her blood had tainted it. Though he might have appeared stricken, his amber eyes were aware of everything. In the company of mages, he'd already reverted to the age old training of templars. Mages were not permitted to walk about freely. And yet this was the second time these women had assisted the Grey Wardens. And this was the second time he would keep their presence a secret. If not for them, there'd be no Grey Wardens remaining, let alone the one that stood on the edge of the marsh, and the other still struggling for life within the tiny hut.

He turned his attention back to the faded whisper of light barely hovering above the horizon. For so long he'd lingered there, watching the halo of light attempting to break free of the thick expanse of clouds.

Though weary from his own wounds, now clumsily healed through the magic of a witch of the wilds, he kept watch. Where Grey Wardens camped, darkspawn would be nearby.

Staring out at the stilled water, a hum of soft voices could be heard from behind him. He listened to the soft undertones as they discussed the only other remaining Grey Warden's condition. From the urgent snatches he could catch, the outcome did not look well. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach at the fear of being left behind.

He cast a dark look over his broad shoulder, his fingers caressing the gold locket dangling around his neck, a drop of the darkspawn's blood he'd ingested enclosed within. In the haze of light, he could make out Morrigan's words, berating the 'fool woman', as she put it, for sacrificing her own life for some daft templar. It seemed Lady Cousland had covered him with her own arrow riddled body to protect him. The sentiment surprised him. He'd believed her to be heartless. And yet, it seemed he'd been wrong. Could the harsh words constantly spitting from her lips be something of a ruse? The Cousland he thought he knew would never do something so foolish as Morrigan put it. Of course, this Cousland had also scoured the dangerous Wilds when only a hint of her brother remained. Perhaps he did not know the real Cousland. And with that thought, he was reminded of the charcoal portrait of her and her brother's words scrawled beneath it.

The blood of Lady Cousland not only stained Alistair's armor but the pale hands of Morrigan who he'd watched as she extracted each and every arrow. Not a flicker of pain had crossed her peaceful face and it was that which had him convinced she'd died also. It had taken many words from Flemeth to even slightly convince him otherwise. Eventually it'd been suggested that he might be more comfortable waiting outdoors while they finished working on her. He'd left, his words of making them wish they'd never been born should they let her die his last parting jibe. With Morrigan's return to the hut, Alistair turned his gaze back upon the land.

As hard as he might have tried, Flemeth's words kept creeping up on him. He strove not to think of what he'd been told, not to focus on the daunting thought that Loghain had abandoned all of Ferelden. For years he'd served the kingdom, for it all to come to a halting stop in the matter of a single day. It all seemed so fantastic. So many had died as a result of that man's actions. And as much as he wished to think of those men, the only face that kept materializing before him was that of Duncan.

A now familiar weight pressed against his thigh. It seemed the mabari had made peace with Alistair with his master's life hanging precariously by the balance. With no smile curving his lips, he dropped a hand down onto the broad shoulders of Farkas. The mutt looked up at him, his low whine mingling with those of songbirds in the distance, those dark eyes offering whatever comfort Alistair would take from them.

As he comforted the mabari, he dragged a hand down his chilled face, his side aching horribly as he did so. He had no idea what had convinced him to rush Aydan and take her place as the blighted ogre reached for her. Yet he had. And now, even as he stood calmly in the Wilds, he could still feel the pressure of the beast's strength as it snapped him in half. They'd informed him that he'd feel some ache while he healed completely, but compared to Aydan, he felt he'd gotten off rather easily. Never had he seen someone so stricken with arrows and live. Of course, that still remained to be seen. There was only so much healing magic could do and the extent of talent. Curing fractured bones was one thing, but to heal punctured organs and split flesh was another matter entirely. The closer one was to death, the harder it was to bring them back from the void. His impatience was slowly beginning to wear thin as he thought on it. He simply longed for the final response. This hovering between life and death was doing nothing for his nerves.

At the sound of animated chatter, Alistair and Farkus both spun. The young woman had thrown open the door and called quickly to her mother. Smoke from incense and flickering candles drifted beyond the door, mingling with the foggy atmosphere hovering around the hut. The scent of elfroot and greater warmth balm surrounded him. From the rush of Flemeth's steps, Alistair knew it could mean anything. It was Farkas' slow crawl towards the door that had Alistair following in his wake. If the youngest Cousland was to die, he felt it only proper to be there to say goodbye. And yet he found himself hoping with all his being that she wouldn't. As harsh the reasoning, he needed her.

His fingers grazed the oak doorframe as he slowly rounded the entrance. Three grown adults standing within the hut was almost too much. The slinking mabari only made it worse. The sight of the two witches poised over the bed set his heart aflutter. So this was to be it then. He was to be the only remaining Warden. When he'd taken his vows and completed the joining, he could honestly say this was not even remotely a thought of what might occur.

His head ached from the building pressure. One of the mages was casting a spell and he felt it down in the pit of his soul. But as he pushed past the doorframe and neared the two witches, he found a startling pair of blue eyes gazing up at him.

"Remarkable," he found himself whispering once more.

"So you keep saying," came her soft, yet clear voice.

A tiny smile curved his lips, his shoulders loosening as the mabari leapt around the bed in a state of excitement. The youngest Cousland still lived.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Let the blade pass through the flesh,_  
><em> Let my blood touch the ground,<em>  
><em> Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice<em>.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

She slowly struggled back into her garments, allowing Morrigan to cinch up the buckles and tie the straps, the whole while listening to her incessant drabble about the outcome of the battle. Her fingers had paused against the thick leather when she heard the words, her eyes searching Morrigan's for any sign of deception.

Instinctively, Aydan reached for her chest piece, gasping at the flare of agony that ripped through her chest. She slipped forwards, her head bowing as she inhaled three deep breaths. Gilmore had taught her how to handle pain long ago and it had always proved useful in her training. As it passed, her fingers rose and grazed against the ache. At the feel of damaged skin, she rose and approached the looking glass. Four new scars littered her upper body, all tinged pink.

"Injuries as severe as yours require time," Morrigan murmured to her. But it wasn't the pain that had slowed her breathing, it was the scars. One hovered just above her breast, another low on her abdomen, a third separating her sword arm from her chest. The last one was smaller and buried within her gut.

"It was not easy," Morrigan stated callously as she finally slid the leather vest over Aydan's head and began to make quick work of the ties. "You required mother to share her life force with you more than once."

"I don't-"

"Understand?" Morrigan quipped. "Needless to say you very well died. Apparently she saw something in you worth saving."

"Th-thank you," she whispered as she stared into the hollow depths of her face.

"T'was not I. As I said, mother did all the work. I merely assisted."

"You have my thanks either way," Aydan mumbled. She searched endlessly for something familiar, a nuance of kinship that she remembered from before. But the hardened eyes staring back at her in the looking glass were as strange to her as that of Morrigan. Her face had thinned in the days since Highever, her cheeks now gaunt, her lips thin and expressionless, and still the vacant expression stared back.

"Would not have been necessary had you not risked your life for that other Warden. Why would you do such a foolish thing?"

Aydan's eyes flashed to the ground as she remembered being overwhelmed by the darkspawn. Alistair's pale face and broken form, these she remembered. Her blood staining the tips of her fingers, the scent of the putrid beast fallen at her feet and then, nothing. Knowing the witch simply wouldn't understand, Aydan remained quiet. But the answer was as resounding as her newly inspired heartbeat. She did not desire another soul weighing on her conscience. Both had survived, it was all that mattered. The agony would ebb, the fear would pass, and they would go on as they had before.

Her chin rose at the sound of angered voices coming from just beyond the hut.

"Yes, your friend, the dim-witted one, he is not taking the news well."

For reasons unbeknownst to her, the sound of his voice drew her from her thoughts and led her from the cramped room. Her heavy armor remained in a pile on the witches' floor, but she wore enough to leave the confines.

The weight of the door gave her injured arm some trouble, but with a tight jaw she pushed it away from her, her boots sinking into the spongy earth.

"There," the elder witch stated. "See. Here comes your fellow Grey Warden now. You worry too much, young man."

Their eyes connected, but only silence spanned the distance between them. Upon waking, his face had been the first she'd seen, hovering so tentatively above the witches, as though surprised to see her awake. And perhaps he had been.

"You," he whispered.

They'd spoken briefly in the hut a mere hour before, but still, he wore that same shocked expression. Her eyes drifted down to the mabari at his side, her loyal Farkas. With a soft whine, he crept towards her, his warm tongue lashing against the back of her hand the moment he was within range. Tears sprang to her eyes but before they could spill, she blinked them back and turned her gaze back up to the other Warden.

"Maker," he breathed, his face stricken with horror as he suddenly crossed the distance between them. His hand rose, his fingers halting above her flesh as though he meant to touch her and then thought better of it. She'd forgotten how low the leather garments she wore beneath her armor sat. And the worst of the scars, the one positioned just above her breast, seemed to shine like a beacon.

"You're alive," he stated sceptically as though it were a wraith that stood before him. "I can't believe it. Morrigan's mother saved us, but I didn't believe it... not after what I saw."

Dull eyes stared back at Alistair, her words stuck on the back of her tongue.

"Duncan's dead," he moaned, a pained expression crumpling his face. "The Grey Wardens, even the king... they're all dead. This doesn't seem real. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."

Her fingers rose once more to brush the scar. It seemed a fair assessment, at least in her case.

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad," the elder witch's voice rose in scorn.

"I didn't mean..." Alistair stuttered. "But what do we call you? You never told us your name."

Her laugh set Aydan's nerves on edge. "Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind folk call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

"_The_ Flemeth from the legends? Daveth was right - you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?" Alistair demanded, staring at her in awe.

"And what does that mean? I know a bit of a magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"

Aydan's uninjured arm rose, her fingers resting gently against Alistair's forearm, drawing him slowly back towards her before he could say something to offend her. They did, after all, owe her their lives. A harsh glance turned to her, as though he wasn't sure who had touched him. A mere second later, his face softened and his lips curved into a shadow of the smile she had seen in the past.

"We can't be safe here," Aydan's voice shattered the developing tension. "Where are all the darkspawn?"

"I've been keeping guard," Alistair responded.

"The largest portion of the horde is to the north. You are safe here, for now," Flemeth stated.

"If it's true," she whispered. "If the Grey Warden's are all dead, what are we to do?"

Her question had been meant for Alistair, but it was Flemeth once again who responded. "Not all are dead, there are two standing before me."

"Yes, but-"

"It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

"The duty remains the same," Aydan murmured. "It's simply the means that's changed. There is no land to unite now, thanks to Loghain."

"This doesn't make any sense," Alistair hissed. "Why would he do it?"

"Now _that_ is a good question. Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believed the Blight is an enemy he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The archdemon," Alistair confirmed with a grim line set upon his face.

Aydan had heard Duncan speak of this creature but still knew nothing about it. She knew from the old stories preached to her that it was a dragon, but that was the extent of her knowledge. "What is this archdemon exactly?"

"It is said that, long ago, the Maker sent the Old Gods of the ancient Tevinter Imperium to slumber in prisons deep beneath the surface. An archdemon is an Old God awakened and tainted by the darkspawn. Believe that or not, history says it's a fearsome and immortal thing. And only fools ignore history."

She turned her gaze back to Alistair. "You are the real Grey Warden here, not me."

He spun towards her, his jaw slack and brow narrowed in concern. "All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone except for the two of us. I've lost everyone. For the love of the Maker, don't back out on me now!"

His words rang true in her head. Now, it seemed they were on the same level. Perhaps now, he would understand why it was she had searched so desperately for Fergus. "I've just lost my family too, Alistair. I know how you feel."

"Then we have to do something! I won't let their deaths be in vain! But I can't do anything on my own."

These words were so familiar as though he had plucked them straight from her own thoughts and fears. It seemed she had come to a crossroads. This was where she'd have to make a decision. Cousland Castle might have been sacked, but it was not forgotten and as the final remaining member of the family, it was her responsibility to see it restored. All her being longed to track down Howe, force him to taste the Cousland steel. But there remained the Blight, the obvious greater threat. Her father's voice rose within her once more. She knew in a heartbeat what her father and brother would have chosen. Loyalists to Ferelden, they'd always been.

"Aydan, please," Alistair begged quietly, closing the distance between them. "I _need _you."

One by one she sliced the ties holding her to Highever. And with a stuttered sigh, she gave a single nod to Alistair. "Then we need to find this archdemon."

His face cleared, the relief brightening his eyes. "Agreed, but we clearly cannot do this by ourselves."

"Do the Wardens have any allies?"

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight. And we should seek out Arl Eamon. His knights were not at Ostagar, he would lend them to us."

"I may be old," Flemeth spoke once more. "But dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else... this sounds like an army to me."

"Yes, it does," Aydan agreed. "Thank you again for your help Flemeth. We'll collect our things and leave you and your daughter."

As she turned, she paused at the sight of Morrigan approaching.

"Before you go, there is yet one more thing I will offer to you."

"The stew is bubbling, mother," Morrigan spoke up, oblivious of the discussion brewing between them. "Shall we have two guests for the eve or none?"

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them."

All three froze, an impregnated silence hovering amongst the mist. It was Morrigan who broke it, her hawk-like gaze narrowing angrily on her mother.

"What?"

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears."

"Wait," Alistair stammered. "We appreciate all you've done for us, but we simply cannot travel with an apostate."

"Fret not lad, Morrigan is well versed in the ways of hiding. She will not give you away."

Aydan's gaze slid to Alistair's. As much as they owed them, this seemed a tad odd of a request. "If she doesn't want to join us..."

"Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde. I will not be saving you again, Wardens, should you stumble across them."

"Have **I** no say in this?" Morrigan sniped.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

"So be it," Aydan finally agreed with a sharp nod.

"Mother-"

"They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

"I... understand. I will go collect my things and we will be off shortly."

As Morrigan retreated, Flemeth's eyes cast upon the two wardens, her lips turning down in a sneer. "And you, Wardens? Do you understand? I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed."

"I understand," Aydan spoke for them both a moment before following in Morrigan's wake to collect the remainder of her own gear.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

The witch had recommended that they travel to Lothering to rest for the night and restock their dwindling level of supplies. They'd both agreed and paced after her only to watch as she shifted into a wild beast and took off into the trees. It seemed Morrigan was not the only one unhappy with this arrangement. He and Aydan hadn't spoken since the hut and even now he paced meters ahead her, every now and then casting a glance back at her to ensure she remained with him.

He'd never felt anything as terrifying as when she seemed to be bowing out. To be one of the last two Wardens was a touch better than simply being the last. Even now he thanked the Maker that the woman had seen some sense and agreed to help. Duncan had recruited her for a reason and he had witnessed that reason when fighting the darkspawn.

He loathed the clench of pain that came with his name. It seemed just as he'd finally managed to find happiness, some sort of contentment within his forsaken life, the Maker had to go and throw everything up in disarray once more. The feeling of abandonment was something he hadn't had to suffer in almost a year. Needless to say he hadn't missed it.

Her muffled gasp interrupted his thoughts and he spun to find her collapsed on her knees, her head bowed towards the ground. Without a spare thought, he rushed down to her, his hand falling on her back as he crouched down to her level.

"Are you alright?"

He tried to ignore the spurn when she repelled away from him and scrambled to her feet. "I'm fine," she snapped, stalking off past him.

Ah, so it was back to the Cousland from Ostagar then. He had rather hoped a near death experience would have lightened her foul mood, but apparently not.

He followed closely behind, this time his hands ready when she did fall again. A few choice, and very unladylike, curses spilled from her lips as she struggled back to her feet only for her knees to bow out once more.

"Aydan, you're clearly exhausted," he murmured calmly. "Let's set up camp."

"We aren't anywhere near Lothering," she growled.

And while that might have been true, he could see in her pale face they would not make it there regardless.

"Morrigan and Flemeth said it would take a few days for you to heal completely. Why are you fighting it? You need rest."

She turned an ire filled face up to him, her eyes lit with rage. He had no idea what he'd done, but he prepared himself anyways for another verbal lashing. But before her words could spill out into the night, Farkas brushed up against her, his low whine apparently more persuading than his actual words. Finally, she heaved a sigh and dropped her head forward, a curtain of thick raven hair sliding over her face and nodded mutely.

"Good," he said. "I'll return shortly with firewood. You just stay there and relax."

He turned on his heel and stalked off in the trees without waiting for her to acknowledge him. He made quick work on his task, forcing his thoughts on that and that only. It would not do him well to linger on other, more unpleasant, thoughts.

It hadn't taken him long to start the fire, the flames roaring in no time. He gazed across the blaze and found her staring vacantly into it, her hound watching her with obvious concern.

"I... uh... meant to thank you," Alistair started awkwardly, circling around the fire and pulling up a log next to her.

Her gaze shot to his, flecks of embers reflecting within her eyes. She looked utterly exhausted and it had been for his sake that she was in this condition.

"For what?" she whispered.

His lips canted up into a slight smile. "For saving my life."

Her quiet sigh was almost nonexistent, but he'd expected it either way. "You did the same for me. That ogre would have crushed me."

"Yes but broken bones are easily healed. It took nothing more than a poultice. Yours was a touch more severe."

She swung back around to face the fire.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, he'd been curious of the answer ever since he'd found out what happened.

"Does it matter?" her voice was so soft.

"I suppose not." Yet, his curiosity still burned brighter than the bonfire.

The howl of a wolf pierced the silence creeping between them. Somehow Alistair just knew it was Morrigan. Knowing not what to say, he turned his gaze up to the stars above. The sky was as clear as ever, not a single cloud cast upon it. He had to admit it was beautiful out here, as though he could forget all his woes.

"I'm..." she hesitated. "Sorry about Duncan."

He jerked away, his spine straightening as he turned to stare at her. It had been as unexpected as a darkspawn assault.

"I... thank you."

When she turned to him, he found himself paralyzed by the intensity burning through those eyes.

"I know what it's like Alistair, I know how you feel. I meant that back at Flemeth's hut."

This had to be the longest conversation they'd ever had. Part of him was afraid to speak, lest he chase her off like a frightened rabbit. Her emotions were unpredictable, and oddly enough, he found he liked that.

"If you need to speak about anything, I will listen, I promise."

He blinked, unsure of where this was coming from. Just earlier in the night, she had shaken off his touch and now she was offering _him_ comfort?

"That's... very nice of you," he stammered. "But you didn't know Duncan, so it's not necessary."

"I know he was like a father to you," she growled. He wondered if he'd offended her again. He seemed rather good at it. "Maybe that's all I need to know."

He turned his attention back to the crackling fire. "Thank you," he stated quietly.

She rose from her log, clicking her fingers and signalling Farkas. "Get some sleep," she told him. "I'll take first watch. I'll wake you when it's time to trade."

His lips parted with the intent to argue, but she stalked off into the shadows, her mabari dancing at her heels. The woman had been toppling over from exhaustion and yet she wanted first watch? Staring off after her in the darkness, he extracted his bedroll from his pack. What a strange woman.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

The light sound of his snores led her way back to camp. His figure was obscured in shadow, the firelight casting a dim glow across his face. He seemed so relaxed and she found herself envious of that. At least in sleep he found peace. She knew the same couldn't be said for her. In the silence of the night, she crept towards the hearth, the sight of her pack tumbling over into the dirt altering her direction. Slowly, she lowered down, a sharp breath hissing out from behind her lips as she fought to ignore the pain. As she started scooping up possessions, her fingers brushed against the leather cover. Staring down at the Cousland name, her heart stuttered. She rose, the tome cradled delicately in her hands. The log was firm and quite uncomfortable, but she sat on it anyways, her brother's journal laid across her lap.

The cover opened easily after many years of conforming to her brother. Her eyes landed on the portraits, her breath slipping past her lips in a rush of air. Seeing them all, forever etched in ink, but never to truly see them again was harder than she ever could have imagined. Her fingers brushed against the strong jaw of her father, the soft curls of her mother, the crooked nose of her brother. One by one she gazed upon each of her family members. She'd never known her brother to be such an artist. When with him, their talk had always centered on weaponry, attacks, and armor.

A damp droplet splashed across the page. As she brushed away the sudden tear, she turned the page. Her brother's script had always seemed so cramped and chaotic. But as she stared at it now, she realized how perfectly it fit him. She skimmed the words. His family was mentioned quite often, the expectations he desired to see from Oren, how much he loved his wife, it brought a lump to her throat as she read it. She flipped to the last entry, wondering if it made any mention of his assignment. To her dismay it didn't. She slid off the log and shuffled closer to the fire, letting the light bring the words more into focus.

_It has only been four nights without my dearest at my side and yet I miss her terribly. I miss the sound of my sweet boy's squeal of laughter and the way he lights up when my ever troublesome sister promises him something his mother would never grant him. The south is quite different from the north. There is an eternal chill here that bears all souls. And while the Ostagar ruins are remarkably impressive, I miss the quiet of Highever. Here, there is constant training, incessant shouting, and every where I look, some force marching in and out of the gates. Soon, it is to be my scouting party. The Wilds are somewhere I'd hoped never to venture out into. Were my sister here, she would love it dearly. As for me, I wish I were home. Such a chill came over me as I left my wife and son. But I _know_ if anything were to happen, Aydan would protect them. Without that knowledge, I could never have left._

The book slipped from her grasp, tumbling into the accumulating ash. Silent tears streaked down her cheeks. How she had failed him. How she had failed them all.

* * *

><p>AN: Once again thanks to everyone who is reading! I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying the story. Since this story is meant more so to focus on the pain of Cousland, I dimmed down Alistair's just a touch. I didn't want the story to be completely mopey after all... haha. Well, please review and let me know what you think!<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_Its gates forever shut. __Heaven has been filled with silence, __I knew then, __And cross'd my heart with shame._

_~Andraste 1:11_

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

Rays of warmth stretched over him, drawing him from his deep slumber. The sound of birds chirping their morning songs surrounded the camp. Gone were the crickets and howls of random wolves. Gone were the stars flickering above that he'd fallen asleep to. And gone were the shadows darkening the land. What remained the same, however, was Aydan, perched upon that log, staring into the ashes of what once had been a fire.

"Did you keep watch all night?" he questioned in a sleepy voice, running a hand through his tousled hair.

She turned towards him, her face paler than he'd ever seen now with the light cast upon it. "Yes," was all she said in a distant voice.

"Aydan," he groused, rising from the bedroll. "You should have woken me."

"You needed rest."

"And you don't?"

From the hunch in her shoulders and the drooping of her blade which dangled from her fingertips, he'd wager she needed it desperately.

"You're up," she stated, slowly rising from the log. "Let's pack camp and head out."

He watched as she stalked off, her listless voice calling for Morrigan. Apparently the witch had chosen to remain wolf last night, sleeping in a tight ball across the camp, her tail drawn protectively over her nose. But it was those same eyes that watched them, ever aware.

Sighing, Alistair lowered down and began rolling up the gear. The leather tome he'd gazed upon in his tent back in Ostagar lay abandoned on the ground, covered in ash from the dwindling fire. He doubted she'd meant to leave it there but she was already fading into the distance as he packed, Farkas trotting quicky at her heels.

He slipped it into his pack as he rose. Maybe she _had _left it behind as a way of removing herself from her emotions. Maker knows it was better than looking at constant reminders of something lost. He'd once felt that way. A shimmer of a silver amulet danced before his eyes. He pushed it back, knowing this wasn't the time. Learning from past mistakes, Alistair knew had it been something of Duncan's, he could never simply leave it somewhere. And so he packed it up. One day, perhaps she'd be ready for its return. And when she was, he'd have it ready for her. It was the least he could do.

Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he bounded after her, the one spot of good news was the missing ache creeping down his side. Apparently he was as good as new. Now if only the same could be said for Aydan.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"Highway men," Alistair groaned, already reaching for his blade.

"They are fools to delay us," Morrigan preached. "I say, teach them a lesson."

"Now, now. Is that any way to greet someone," the obvious leader sneered as he stepped up before the rest of his men.

Aydan was in no mood. She swung her blade around. "You mean to steal from me?"

"Stealing is such a harsh word," the men laughed raucously. "More of paying a toll to enter the town. Ten silver, it's not much. Your life means more I'd wager."

"You'd wager wrong," she snapped. "You will get nothing from me and I'd suggest you boys move along before something nasty occurs."

"Well now," the leader snarled. "It seems something already has."

Since the previous night, she'd been itching for a fight and if these men wanted it, she'd give it to them. Their two blades clashed, frozen before their faces. With a scowl, Aydan's knee tucked into her chest just seconds before she lashed out with all her strength, her boot landing in his gut. A fresh bout of adrenaline seemed to ebb the sting of her former wounds and bring about such feelings of might. Staggering for breath, the leader stumbled back. Granting no reprieve, she jabbed forward, only parried when he brought his blade across his chest at the last moment. His eyes had widened with fright, as though now was when he began to understand just who he was dealing with.

Through the haze of red blurring her vision, she swept low, her leg catching against his. His cry was short as he toppled to the ground. Without even a wasted thought, she drew her sword above her head and slammed it down with an incensed cry. She felt more than saw his flesh split the moment the blade sliced through his neck. Short spurts of blood stained her armor and began to creep along her boots. Her fingers latched onto the dagger tucked into the leader's belt and drew it. She spun and released her anger with a single flick of her wrist. The blade seemed to shimmer in the sunlight as it sailed through the air until, with a sickening sound, punctured through the ear of the man Alistair had faced off with. With his opponent's sudden fall, Alistair spun towards her, his lips agape. Wrenching her blade free, she stalked over to the next one. His back was to her as he battled Morrigan. The witch slammed her stave down into the cement, rocking him back where he met the fatal strength of her Cousland blade.

The moment she turned, she found all others had scattered to the winds.

"Aydan," she heard someone calling her name.

Her chest heaving, she turned. She knew the voice but her anger kept her from seeing any reason. Sliding her bloodied blade through her sheath, she snapped her fingers at Farkus and stalked off into the town, leaving behind her two bewildered companions. They had come here to restock. And that was exactly what they were going to do. Afterwards, she planned on immediately dealing with those treaties. She wanted this entire mess done and finished.

Their voices mingled with one another, shouting for her to hold, but she pressed forwards. As she followed the path leading through the town gates, her eyes wandered on the many locked out, their pitiable pleas for money or food falling on deaf ears. It seemed Lothering was well aware of the impending Blight with pestilence and depravity at every corner.

"Back off," a loud abrasive voice sounded from her right. "I have the right to charge whatever I wish!"

Aydan changed her course almost immediately, recognizing the plentiful crates tucked in behind him overflowing with goods. This was who they were looking for.

"You profit from their misfortune! I should the templars give away everything in your carts!"

"You wouldn't dare!" the merchant growled. "Any of your step too close to my goods, and I'll-"

Heavy armor approached her from behind. "It's so nice to see everyone working together in a crisis. Warms the heart."

"You there!" the merchant called, his grubby finger directed towards Aydan. "You look able! Would you care to make a tiny profit helping a beleaguered businessman?"

Her scoff was louder than she'd intended. "Solve this yourself, I'm not getting involved."

"Aydan!" Alistair hissed behind her.

"He is charging outlandish prices for things people desperately need! Their blood is filling his pockets," the chantry sister pleaded.

"Tis only the survival of the fittest," Morrigan quipped. "All of these cretins would do the same in his shoes, given the chance."

"I have limited supplies. The people decide what those supplies are worth to them," the merchant countered.

"You bought most of your wares from these very people last week! Now they flee for their lives, and you want to talk business?"

"Look," Aydan groused. "I'm simply here to do business myself. We require supplies and then we'll be on our way."

"Maker, this is ridiculous," Alistair complained. "Don't you think you're being a little unscrupulous?" he demanded of the merchant.

"Would it help these folks if they could buy no goods at all?"

Aydan's fingers twitched in irritation. "Just find a compromise before I sort this out for all of you."

"Fine," the merchant grumbled. "As long as this blasted woman agrees that I'm allowed to charge _something_."

"Do what you must. So long as the prices do not beggar the needy," the chantry agreed sullenly.

"Fine, but since you don't look needy, normal prices for you," he snapped at Aydan.

She leaned around his goods, shooting him a single glance that had the man swallowing awkwardly.

At the dispersal of the group, she began to gather what they needed. For once everything seemed silent around her, until Alistair shifted up against the cart, his back against it as he watched her on angle.

"Care to tell me what that was about?"

"What?" she snapped, reaching for a haunch of cheese, aware of how his eyes lit up. "They wanted a fight, they got it. Do not tell me you regret ridding the world of a few more bandits."

"I didn't rid the world of anything," he laughed bitterly. "I'm pretty sure you took care of them before Morrigan or I had a chance to help."

"And this is a bad thing?" she retaliated now reaching for a few flasks of poison.

He pushed off the cart and took a few steps before stopping. "You know, Aydan. You're not the only one in pain here. The whole world is falling to pieces, not just the Cousland family. Leave your anger for those responsible."

She held her tongue, knowing her bite would only exacerbate things. Handing everything over to the merchant, he gave her his total, glaring the entire time. Once she coughed up the coin, he fed her a faux smile and let her on her way.

"Let's go," she beckoned her companions, already starting over a small bridge coupling the two sections of land that made up Lothering.

All around them were droves of people, mingling among one another, their voices strained as they argued over possessions. Her feet carried her forward and she listened as one accused another of theft. It all seemed so foreign compared to Cousland Castle. Beyond the fence was open pasture, nothing more than a few natural herbs and grassy knolls.

"Well, now," Morrigan commented as she slid out from behind Aydan and stalked across the clearing. Before them stood a man of extraordinary height, with the most curious lavender eyes, locked within a cage.

"You aren't my captors," the growled. "I will not amuse you any more than I have the other humans. Leave me in peace."

Aydan was about to turn and leave when her eyes landed on his calloused hands. She knew the look of them. Had gazed upon her own for years. This man clearly had been trained to use a sword.

"Who are you?" she finally asked.

When those eyes slid to hers, she held, waiting for the answer. Eventually, in a gravelly voice, he told her. "A prisoner. I'm in a cage, am I not? I've been placed here by the Chantry." After a long sigh, he continued. "I am Sten of the Beresaad, vanguard of the qunari people's."

"Qunari?" Alistair mused as he slanted around Aydan.

"Why would there be a qunari locked away here?" she questioned.

The qunari turned his gaze elsewhere, ignoring her pointed questions. But curiosity had Aydan peering closer. The clothing he fashioned clearly was not made for him, stitched up along the edges to account for his massive size.

"What do you know of the qunari?" she posed to Alistair.

"Only a little. Seasoned warriors that believe in the Qun. Beyond that," he finished with a shrug.

"A warrior…" she murmured as she circled the cage.

"I am not here to entertain you," he groused.

"Indeed," she agreed. "Why are you in this cage?"

His gaze slid away once more, again ignoring her question.

"Not to put too fine a point on this," Alistair suggested. "But if we could release him, perhaps he might help us. Another warrior among us would truly be beneficial."

Too fine a point, indeed. Aydan's thoughts had taken much of the same path.

"Help with what?" he demanded.

"The Blight," Aydan stated honestly. "I find myself in need of someone with your skills."

"You know nothing of my skills human."

"But you are qunari, no?" She flicked a gaze down to his hands. "And you've been trained with a blade?"

"Better than any human," he sneered.

"I am sworn to defend this land against the Blight. If I released you, would you agree to lend us assistance?"

"You are Grey Wardens?" he questioned softly, those alien eyes dancing between all her companions.

"We are."

He seemed to contemplate her offer, his fingers thrumming against his side as he did. Finally with a tiny bow, he stated, "My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens strength and skill, though I suppose not every legend is true. If you were to release me I would follow you."

A conniving smile curled her lips. She drew her blade, ignoring the gasps of the people surrounding her and brought it down on the lock. That simply, it broke open and the warrior slowly stepped out.

"I would prefer not to remain here," he commented.

She snapped her fingers a second before lowering down to Farkas' height. Her whispered words were clear, her orders easily followed.

"Farkas will lead you to our camp," she informed him. "We will be along shortly."

He fed her one last look before following in her mabari's wake. Not a single guard approached her, the state of Lothering far beyond the order of justice.

"He will require armor," Alistair said. "Though where we'll find him something that will fit, I've no idea."

"Certainly not here," she responded as she led them back the way they had come. The rumbling of Alistair's stomach drew her attention to a sign that read Dane's Refuge. And as though her own sensed it, she suddenly felt famished herself. It was strange, seeing how she'd never once felt this ravenous before.

"A blade too," she murmured mostly to herself. Two handed, she figured, from the extent of muscle she saw bunching beneath the fabrics.

With another snarl in the pit of her stomach, she altered their course once more, her hand pushing open the large door, the ache in her expanding now that the adrenaline had fully faded. Unlike at Morrigan's, this time her arm lacked the strength whatsoever to open the door. A flicker of anxiety wormed through her. It was her sword arm.

"Aydan?" Alistair murmured at her faltered movement. But with a ground jaw, she simply shoved the door open with her other and stalked inside.

The tavern was bustling to the roof with customers. Smoke collected within the rafters, veiling much of the room. Refusing to even attempt to speak over the rambunctious laughter and rowdy chatter, she simply pointed at a table in the very back, elevated on the dais. Alistair's eyes lit up at the notion of food and led the way, narrowly twisting them through groups of people.

The moment they reached the table, Aydan dropped down into the hardened chair, her hand immediately reaching for her shoulder. The muscles had tightened severely to the point where she could hardly move her fingers.

"Are you alright?" he questioned over the noise.

With a sneer, she jerked her arm away from him once more. "I'm fine."

She'd had to be blind not to see the look of contempt darkening his face. They were all on edge. A little food would go a long way.

Three flacons slammed down on the table before them and an innkeeper hovered above them. "What'll it be?"

"What do you have?" Aydan questioned.

"Stew," his sour words grumbled.

"What else?" Alistair chirped.

"Stew."

The two shared a glance and for the very first time since they met, they partook in a true smile. She'd forgotten just how good it could feel.

"Stew it is," they braved together.

"You got coin?" he demanded.

Aydan fished with her good arm in her purse and slapped down a single silver, more than enough for four bowls of stew. The innkeeper clutched at it immediately before continuing onwards.

Regardless of the depleting state of Lothering, it seemed the people were able to maintain a gaiety about them. Somehow above all the commotion, Aydan could make out a bard, singing deeply, his majestic words already bathing the current bloodshed at Ostagar in mystery and intrigue. All around refugees slammed their mugs against the tables, cheering loudly and singing obnoxiously off-key.

"Did you hear?" she heard a slurred voice shout behind her. "Loghain and his men passed through her just a day ago."

"Wow," someone responded. "Loghain? The Queen's regent?"

Aydan's shoulders went stiff, her eyes locked onto Alistair as he leaned closer to listen.

"The Grey Wardens are all dead, the king too! And remaining Grey Wardens are being charged with treason for conspiring to kill the king."

Her mug nearly slipped from her grasp as she heard these words, the ale sputtering slightly from her lips. Alistair stared at her with large eyes.

"Don't," he mouthed, his gaze flicking to the men.

If only she could have listened. Things might have gone a little different.

Spinning in her chair, she tapped the man seated behind her less than gently. He turned, his lips parting in shock.

"Did you just say all Grey Wardens were being charged with treason?" she called above the music.

Eager to spread the news, the man nodded emphatically. "It's their fault King Cailan lies dead! Loghain has passed along the information that if any are seen in Ferelden, to alert the guards immediately."

So, Loghain was trying to tie up all loose knots. He knew Alistair and Aydan hadn't been a part of the battle. And he'd obviously witnessed the success of their task to light the beacon, he had no knowledge that the tower had been overrun or that Flemeth was the only reason they yet lived. Turn the people of Ferelden against the Wardens, again, and there wasn't much of anything they could do to set the record straight.

Inside she was fuming but Alistair's words from earlier were the only thing holding back the true words threatening to lash out on them. Instead she asked, "You seem well versed in the happenings of Ferelden. Tell me, what other news do you have?"

His eyes slanted dangerously. "What's it to you?"

She flipped a coin in the air, another silver. Not much to most, but in Lothering it meant food and another round. "The question is what's it to you?" In Highever, not many would have dared to have spoken to her in such a tone, but she had to remind herself this was not Highever.

The coin bounced off the man's table and rolled down into his lap.

"There is a new Teryn of Highever," he stated almost immediately, unaware of her cringe, or the fingers of her good hand tightening around the hilt of her dagger.

The fingers of her injured arm curled inwards. Apparently her rage allowed her to move them again.

"Who?" she demanded, the single word dripping with fury.

"Arl - sorry, Teryn Rendon Howe, second to Teryn Loghain."

As she shot up from her seat, the table rocked backwards, ale spilling over the wood.

"Aydan," Alistair's quiet voice murmured in her ear.

"Oi!" a booming voice echoed from the lower level.

All four companions turned towards the sound, Aydan's chest heaving, her jaw grinding in furor.

"Did we, or did we not spend the afternoon inquiring about a woman of this description?" the heavily armored man demanded of his own companion.

"Aye, that we did. Looks like we were lied to. And what do we have here? A couple of Grey Wardens?"

The man next to her rose with a gasp, pressing against the wooden wall and sliding away from them.

"Loghain's ordered your removal, violently if necessary," the first one grinned, flashing rotten teeth at them. "I feel we should oblige."

"Gentleman," a chantry sister spoke up. "There's no need to fight."

"Oh, but there is," Aydan growled, drawing her sword with her injured arm, too angry to even notice the burning agony tearing through it.

"These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge," she continued.

"Stay out of it," Aydan snapped as she flicked an enraged glance towards the chantry sister.

"Oh they're more than that," the guards droned, drawing their own blades to mirror her.

Well armored these men, at least they had that, their blades undamaged and well taken care of. And yet, the moment he slanted back, taking his first defensive position, Aydan knew they lacked the proper training.

"Kill the dark haired one and her pet boy there," the main guard ordered. "Leave the witch for questioning. And kill the sister too, for interfering."

"Her pet boy?" Alistair sniped, flicking a glance back up at Aydan.

Ignoring him, she slowly stalked down the stairs, taking one at a time, her free hand sliding down the banister. It seemed they were about to have a repeat of the bandits and she had no qualms with that whatsoever. She let him attack first, easily dodging his swing and watching as he slid into the wall. As he turned, she charged, making short work of his attempts to dispatch her. Unskilled, or at least in comparison to two Grey Wardens and a mage.

"Aydan, behind you!" Alistair called seconds before diving over her and slamming his shield forwards.

Her man struck out, the edge of his blade catching against her thigh. She brought her other knee up, catching him square in the groin and watching in pleasure as he dropped to the ground. As he gasped for air, she stomped down on the arm clutching his blade, kicking it out of his reach the moment it clattered from his fingers.

"Enough!" the sister called as Aydan pressed forwards, about to deliver the final blow. "They've learned their lesson and we can all continue about our day."

"Why?" she demanded. "They were going to kill us. I can't have them returning to Loghain with our location."

"They have surrendered," her thick Orlesian accent came.

"That was their last mistake," she hissed in hatred as she suddenly slid the blade home, like butter, through his gut.

"Maker!" the sister cried, jumping away from the spray of hot blood.

Aydan did not once break contact as she watched the light fade from his eyes. She did not relish taking a man's life but it had come down to his or theirs. Had she let the guards go, they would have immediately reported to Loghain and he would have brought all his men down upon this little town searching endlessly for them. Realistically, she understood how quickly someone like Loghain could find them if he gained even the slightest whisper of their whereabouts.

"I'm sorry sister," she stated emotionlessly. "It had to be done."

Aydan turned to find Alistair standing above his man as well. This time there was no contempt written in his face, simply a blank look staring back at her.

"I'm sorry," Aydan murmured again as she turned and left the tavern, her companions stumbling after her. So much for a real meal.


	8. Chapter 8

-Chapter 8-

_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade_

_For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light_

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost_

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"Lady Cousland!" her name rang out across the field as she stalked past the nonsensical sister from earlier within the tavern. It was habit that had her slowing, but curiosity that allowed her to turn. Not once throughout their very short conversation had the sister let on that she knew _exactly_ who this Grey Warden was.

At her pause, the sister gathered the long folds of her dress into one hand so not to trip as she ran after her.

"You know who I am?" Aydan questioned sourly, the tip of her fingers caressing her hilt. It was a common habit, one she was not entirely aware of doing.

"I know many things," she murmured in her soft little Orlesian accent. And yet no words followed giving insight to what else she might have learned. But it was the knowledge within those light eyes that had Aydan leaning back, her arms now crossed over her chest.

"And just what is it that you want from me?"

The sister's eyes latched onto each and every companion, silently pleading for assistance. She was given none.

"I _know_ that I am meant to help you."

"More crazy?" Alistair's fevered words hissed next to her.

"You _know_ this?" Aydan repeated, her heavy boots crunching against the gravel as she slowly stalked towards the young woman. "And tell me, sister. Just how do you expect to be of assistance to me? Prayer is saved for the chantry, not the road."

"I wasn't born in the Chantry, you know. Many of us had more... colourful lives before we joined. I can help you, I assure you."

Aydan gave her a cursory glance. Her sinewy form begged to differ. Such slight muscle upon her, her form was quite similar to that of Morrigan. But the witch's fortitude was strength of mind. And compared to the sheer size of the qunari, it seemed unlikely that this woman would be of any help. Her gaze swept over the fiery red hair; how horribly it clashed with the pale salmon dress.

"Like you helped in there?" Aydan sniped, her blade pointed back towards the tavern. "I require people who do not falter at the thought of killing."

The sister slid a glance backwards, her eyes widening as she clearly remembered the skirmish from within. "You are to battle the Blight, no? You will require all the help you can gain. I know this. Do not shut me out, I beg you."

"You are mistaken," Aydan sighed. "I have all the help I need."

With her first step up the ramp leading them from Lothering, Alistair's hand fell gently upon her shoulder.

"Aydan, I think we should consider this."

Her jaw ground in irritation as she turned. There was earnest scrawled across his face, a flicker of hope that she interpreted as desire. With a sneer, Aydan leaned away. "If you want to bed the fair sister, do that on your own time. We have a Blight to end."

He shrunk away as though slapped, his cheeks flaming as his hand dropped from her shoulder. "Th-that wasn't what I meant. I just think the sister is right. We _do_ need all the help we can get. And if she can fight-"

"If?" Aydan demanded. "What if she can't Alistair? We don't have the supplies to allow any to tag along that cannot be of assistance."

"And what if she can?"

Aydan's gaze slid back over the sister. She bore no weapons, possessed no muscle, nor the armor that would be required. Her words were harsh as she repeated these sentiments.

"The quartermaster had armor that would fit her for sale," he assured her. "And as seen by Morrigan, muscle is not everything."

"Do not drag me into this scuffle," the witch's words were quiet and emotionless.

Aydan's neck grew warm. "My answer is no. Thank you sister for your interest, but I think you are more suited to the life here."

Aydan finally turned, determined to set her party on their way. With each step, she settled with her decision.

"Hey!" she heard Alistair cry out, but she wouldn't turn.

It wasn't until a dagger streaked past her, the blade catching against her cheek and blood spilling over her skin that Aydan spun, her sword already clutched tightly within her hand, stalking angrily back down the dais. At first she had thought it to be Alistair, who else possessed a blade other than him? And with that thought came the notion of ripping his head from his shoulders. But the sight welcoming her drew her steps to a stop, her eyes taking in the scene stretched before her.

Sprawled across the lush grass, not yet stained by the taint, was Alistair as he stared up in awe at the sister. A simple glance bore witness that Alistair had been robbed of his weapons, his Grey Warden sword held tightly by the sister, his dagger now protruding from the bark of the wood just to Aydan's right.

Even Morrigan slanted back, her eyes narrowed in appreciation.

Scalding blood streamed down Aydan's cheek, sliding under her armor and dripping over her collarbone. And yet she made no move to staunch the flow. She simply stared at the sister, noting her battle stance, the blade held professionally before her, dropped slightly low to the ground as she prepared for Aydan's attack. Her grip was light but sturdy, her free arm held out to counter the balance. She rocked forward on her toes and held steady, simply waiting.

Aydan had watched Alistair fight. And while she would never admit to anyone's training rivalling her own, she could at least admit he was bloody close. For him to have been disarmed that quickly, it appeared this woman could indeed fight.

Her hand slid to her side, watching as the sister tensed, unsure of where Aydan's thoughts had strayed. But when she jerked off their rather small purse, the sister's face flickered with a frown.

Aydan launched it at Alistair, who scrambled to catch it lest the coin spill out.

"Get her some armor," Aydan commanded. "And some proper weapons. If the quartermaster has any issue with price, remind him of how easily we could shut him down."

The sister straightened with her words, her smile stretching brightly across her face. "I am to join you?"

Aydan's hand slid up her side, her fingers brushing against the wound. "If you wish to eat tonight, I suggest you two make this a quick trip for supplies and return to camp immediately. Morrigan and I will prepare something."

"Oh wonderful," Morrigan groaned, stalking up the platform. But Aydan was well aware of her final comment. "Perhaps you hit your head harder than mother and I thought."

"Thank you," the sister beamed. "My name is Leliana. You will not be disappointed in me, I promise."

Aydan knew a little something about broken promises. Without another word she turned and began after Morrigan.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

"I cannot believe I am meant to travel with Grey Wardens," the woman at his side twittered, her fingers caressing the steel of the blade he had managed to procure for her.

His laugh was dark and heavily sceptical. "Don't get your hopes up. It's not glamorous, I assure you."

"I would never imagine it to be," she smiled gently. "But I know this is where I am meant to be."

How nice it must have been to possess such clarity of one's life, but he held his tongue, lest he offend her.

"Lady Cousland-"

"Aydan," Alistair interrupted. "Her name is Aydan. I would refrain from bringing up her family name."

Leliana's bright eyes flashed to him in the dark. There was a touch of confusion but he ignored it. If this sister knew so much, as she claimed to, she would understand.

"Alright," she hesitated. "May I ask a question about her?"

Alistair's shoulders rose in a careless shrug. "Do what you want."

"Is she always so...?" the woman faded off, her hands fluttering in the night, apparently at a lost for the correct word.

Alistair flicked a side long glance at her. "Is she always so what?"

"Well... terrifying," the sister chuckled softly.

"Ah," Alistair himself couldn't help but crack a small smile. "I would wager yes."

"She could do to be a little happier, no? Perhaps even a little nicer?"

Alistair turned, his gait redirecting her backwards until her back pressed rigidly against a tree. He caught the flicker of worry in her face, her fingers twitching towards her new blades. His hand pressed down on top of them, holding them to her side so she could not draw them.

"I would also caution you to refrain from insulting her," he wasn't entirely sure of why he grew heated with her sentence. Perhaps since the death of Duncan, he understood more of what she was going through. To lose one was difficult enough, but to lose one's entire family, he was merely thankful she hadn't completely lost her mind yet.

"I did not mean-" the sister floundered.

As he stepped away, the two continued on the path. "It has been a difficult path so far. More than one hardship after another." His words had come out a touch harsher than he'd intended but it helped define his statement.

Leliana's gaze shot to him, her lips curving smoothly. "Ah, I see."

"See what?" he asked as he turned his attention back out to their path. As he waited for her response, he inspected each and every inch of land. It was simply too easy to hide in shadows, and while he felt no threat of darkspawn, lately he was of the better safe than sorry mind frame. Beyond that, with Loghain now hunting them down, there were other threats that could attack at any moment. It was that which had his ever watchful eyes scouring every shadow, every tree line, ever curve of land.

"You like her," Leliana murmured with a soft giggle.

Alistair suddenly tripped over a large rock, spinning towards her as he caught his balance. For once, he laughed, but it seemed to come out more as a scoff. "And why would you assume such a thing?"

Her crooked smile only taunted him further. "A man's reactions can say more than any words."

Perhaps Aydan had been right about this one, he mused as he turned back to the land with a shake of his head. Maybe it would have been better to leave her in Lothering.

"She is a Grey Warden," he told her. "She is the _only_ remaining Grey Warden, other than myself. What you are picking up on is simply camaraderie."

The two fell into an uncomfortable silence which appeased Alistair.

Farkas' light bark directed them back to camp, his voice calling out to alert her of their approach. The smell of stew drifted towards them and with a heavy sigh, he lowered his pack down onto the soil. It was surprising to find her the only one, other than Farkas, at camp.

"There is food in the pot," Aydan stated emotionlessly, her attention completely cast down upon her blade as she shined the steel. She'd stripped completely down from her armor, seated once again before the fire in naught but her leathers. He'd seen them before, at Morrigan's house, but he'd been more concerned of her health at that moment that he hadn't taken much notice. Now, here, under the pallid light of the moon, it was all he could do not to stare.

"Uh, Aydan?" Alistair murmured, slowly approaching her, berating himself as his gaze lingered near the scar above her chest.

When her eyes shot up, he froze, pitted through by her gaze once more. His tongue flicking out to dampen his lips, he pointed gingerly at her cheek. "You're still bleeding."

Her naked fingers leapt to her cheek. He'd caught the wince and was moving forward before she could rise from her log.

"I should call Morrigan," he offered.

Aydan's fingers dropped away. "She has left for the night, to scout the woods. Besides, her mother was the healer, not her."

"And Sten?"

"He wished to explore. I saw no problem in that."

With a nod, he crouched before his pack, suddenly aware of the sister's eyes intently watching them.

"You don't suppose you can help?" he demanded snidely. "Seeing as this is your work?"

She approached slowly, her hands clasped before her waist shyly. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just wanted to show that I was capable."

Aydan gave a sharp nod. "As you did. Don't fret Leliana. If I were angry, you would know."

Alistair's fingers rifled through the pack but it was to no avail. They possessed nothing to help with injuries. With a mental note to correct that issue, he rose from his crouch with a shrug. Sighing, he closed the distance between them and dropped down before her.

Her eyes were wary as she watched his every move as though waiting for him to assault her.

Their gazes met and he held it. "You know you can trust me," he commented under his breath, hoping the sister would not hear. "And you don't have to play the warrior every moment of the day. We're here to help one another, not remain at odds."

She held stiffly, her shoulders tight, thoughts crossing her face. Finally with a small nod, she turned her face back towards the fire, allowing him to inspect the wound. It was clean enough, as far as he could tell. But he didn't know much of healing.

"We need more supplies," he told her as his fingers finally grazed against her jaw, slanting her cheek towards the moonlight for a closer look. "We have nothing on us to take care of this. That seems foolish if we don't have a healer."

"Oh!" the sister gasped as she rose to her feet, her skirt fluttering down around her feet. And then she took off, sprinting into the trees.

"Do you think she's even aware of how dangerous that is?" Aydan asked tightly.

Alistair's chuckle was light but in earnest. "I don't think she's aware of much."

He rose from her side and stripped down of his own armor.

"What are you doing?" she suddenly asked.

His movements slowed for a moment as he took in her position. She slanted away from him as though he was about to strip down naked before her. His fingers latched onto the hem of his undershirt and he wrenched, the tearing of fabric the only sound other than the crackling of the fire.

Someone had clearly fetched water while he and Leliana were acquiring gear. He dipped the strip of material into it and returned to Aydan, perching down before her once more.

She tilted her face automatically, aligning it once again with the moonbeam. The moment he touched the fabric to her skin, she jumped. His hand hovered above her, his eyes sweeping over her face.

"Cold," she whispered gently. It was the first time he'd heard her voice so pleasant. When his fingers fell upon her jaw once more, he was entirely aware of just how soft her skin was. Without thinking, his fingers traced her jaw line.

"Alistair?" she murmured, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand.

Scolding himself, he lowered the soaked material back down onto her cheek, gently wiping away the dried blood, only for fresh blood to trickle out once more.

"She got you good," he told her.

He was positive he caught a smile. "Good."

"Here!" he heard the Sister's voice as she danced through the camp once more.

Leliana thrust a handful of roots at Aydan, grinning as the woman took them from her.

"What is that?" Alistair asked, turning his nose away from the horrid stench coming from them.

"Elfroot. I know a little of herbalism. Elfroot is used to treat wounds. Without a distillation agent, we unfortunately cannot make it into a potion, but if you eat it, the effects will be the same."

Alistair groaned, his hand falling upon her shoulder. He did not envy her, it smelled utterly revolting. The dubious look crossing her face was laughable.

"Is this further punishment?" she questioned.

Leliana's face broke into a playful scoff. "I would never."

"You expect me to ingest this?"

Alistair shifted his weight, grinning when her gaze slid back to his. "Wouldn't be the worst thing you've eaten," he teased.

Her face cleared at that thought. With a lingering sigh, she turned her attention back down to the handful of mud encrusted roots. "That much is true at least."

And with a deep breath, she shoved the foul roots into her mouth, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she chewed. More than once, Alistair caught the constricting of her throat as her body tried to spew it out, but she forced it down, her fingers pressed against her lips when she finished.

"Maker," he heard her gasp. "Next time, let's find a potion."

For the first time since they'd begun this blasted adventure, laughter swelled within the camp. It was nice to hear it, he only felt it too bad that it had come from Leliana and himself.

She rose from her log, her hands clenching her stomach. "Leliana, will it still work if I throw it up?"

But both Alistair and Leliana sat back and watched in awe as her skin stitched itself back together seconds later. The stain of blood remained, but at least the wound had healed, without even the hint of a scar. He was sure she'd be thankful for that, she had plenty as it was.

"Maker," it was Leliana's voice that came this time.

As Aydan stood, the soft beams of light cast upon her upper body. And there, shining like rubies were her scars.

"What did this?" she asked as she rose, her eyes sweeping over the injuries.

The two Wardens shared another glance, before, with a shrug, Aydan stumbled away into the trees, the sounds of her retching horrid to listen to.

Leliana's gaze turned to Alistair, the question obvious in her eyes.

"As I said," Alistair responded darkly, the aura of depression once more taking the camp. "It's been a difficult path so far."

If Aydan wished to inform the sister of the injuries history, that was her call. As he settled before the fire, his attention was drawn back to the tree line where he watched Aydan stagger back towards them, her face pale and slicked with sweat.

The moment she dropped back down onto her log, he turned to her with a sympathetic smile. "Remind me never to eat elfroot."

She groaned her acknowledgement, her fingers flying to her lips once more. "I think this is worse."

He turned to her with shock widening his eyes. "Nothing is worse."

"Tell me that after you've tried it," she threatened gently.

With a small smile, he turned back to fire, listening to the endless snarling of her stomach.

* * *

><p>AN: Hopefully everyone is enjoying the story! Please review and let me know what you think! And thanks to everyone; reviewers, subscribers, readers, everyone :)


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Woo hoo an Alistair chapter! And because it hasn't been said, I hold no claim to the characters, no rights blah blah blah. Thanks again to all reviewers, subscribers, readers, etc. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter 9<p>

_We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit."_

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

What sleep Alistair had hoped Aydan would get was ruined by the constant lurching of her stomach. Even from his bedroll next to hers, it was hard not to hear it. He'd even opted to remain awake and keep guard. From the sight of her snugly curled into a pained ball, he knew she wouldn't be fit to, regardless of her arguements. More than once he'd suggested she just sleep, perhaps it would help, but the glare that met his words was frightening. Leliana had dozed off a short while afterwards, her apologies for the elfroot falling on deaf ears.

The camp had fallen silent halfway through the night, once Sten had returned from exploring, enjoying his freedom to do so. He'd given Aydan a disgruntled look when coming across her state, before finding a flat patch of grass and resting himself.

He would have had to be blind not to see that the poor woman was exhausted. If he was correct, she hadn't managed a wink of sleep since Morrigan's and that was the night before last. There had been one point in the night that he had thought she was finally drifting off. Earlier, she had stretched out her arm and as he held still, he watched the tension slip from her tightly curled fingers. But the moment the thought crossed his mind, she lurched back to her feet, stumbling into the shadows where once again, he listened to her retching. He'd never heard of someone having such a hard time with elfroot. It was meant to heal, not injure. He had to wonder if it was something else entirely plaguing her, perhaps something non-physical.

When she staggered back, she'd dropped onto her log, staring once more into the fire. They spoke very little, but when they did, it was always in hushed undertones. He'd even braved asking why she had killed Loghain's men and not simply let them go. Her simple words of desiring not to wake in the middle of the night with Loghain's blade pitted through her neck stuck with him. He hadn't even thought of that.

She'd told him to rest, claimed that he needed it more than she. He'd almost laughed. He couldn't think of a soul that needed rest more than she.

And so he simply laid there and watched when every twenty minutes, on the dot, the poor woman leapt from her seat and bolted back into the trees. Whatever words of comfort he could offer were silenced by a look.

It felt as though the night would drag into eternity, the ever constant moon hovering above them. So when the dusky haze of light finally slid through the trees, he couldn't help but smile. At least now, they could get to work. It was with that realization that he turned to her as he strapped his blade.

"Have you had a chance to look over those treaties?" he questioned as he woke the remaining companions.

She gave a brief nod. Both felt it an accomplishment that she had gone over an hour without emptying whatever little contents remained in her stomach.

"There are three treaties," he surmised. "The dwarves of Orzammar, the Dalish elves, and the mages of Kinloch Hold. Kinloch Hold is along the way to Orzammar so it would make sense to begin there."

"And the Dalish?" Leliana mused as she approached them, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

Aydan's shrug was light. "I have no idea where to find them."

"Brecilian Forest," Morrigan spoke.

Both Wardens turned to her. "And you know this...?"

"I spent many a night wandering the Wilds. Sometimes I strayed beyond them. I have come across the Dalish more than once."

"That would make them the closest option," Alistair suggested.

"Indeed," she agreed, spinning on her heel in the direction of the Brecilian.

"Oh," Leliana cooed as she chased after Aydan. "The Dalish, how exciting! I have heard so many tales of their kind."

Alistair was aware of the witch's sigh before he felt a wave of magic pass over them all. He flicked a quick glance back to watch as she shifted into a raven and took to the skies.

"Do you think we are simply meant to follow her?" Aydan questioned.

Alistair gave a small shrug. It mattered not to him what that witch did, so long as she didn't pollute their ears with more infernal ranting about the circle.

"We'll need to find Sten some armor. If not along the way, after the Dalish, perhaps we should stop for a bit in Denerim. There's an armor shop there," Alistair commented.

Aydan nodded. "Wade's armor, I know of it."

He noticed how quiet her tone went, her gaze unfocused as she stared off into the woods.

"We'll need gold," he continued.

But it was only met with her silence.

They were on the road only an hour after sunrise when a sudden splatter of cold water splashed against Alistair's cheek. Swirling clouds hovered precariously above them, thickened with what he could only assume to be rain. From the loan groan at the front of the party, Aydan must have noticed it as well.

"Think we can hide under some trees until it passes?" Alistair teased.

Both Sten and Aydan cast a scornful look upon him.

"I'll take that as a no," he sighed as he prepared to get wet.

-O-O-O-

He had to admit the youngest Cousland was quite breathtaking when wet. Thin rivulets of water trailed her face and her hair lay matted against her brow. But these weren't what had caught his eye. It was the earnest smile curving her lips as she tipped her head back towards the sky. He knew he wasn't meant to watch her, she'd stalked off on her own after pointing out to Leliana and Morrigan where to make camp for the night. And it wasn't as though he was following her, he'd simply meant to ask her a question. One that he couldn't recall for the life of him now that he'd found her. Having never witnessed her so relaxed and free, he felt as though he was invading a private moment. And he was about to slink away when a branch beneath his feet betrayed his position.

"Alistair?" he heard her question in that low voice that told him he was certainly in trouble.

Yet, part of him welcomed her ranting. Her poisoned words were something he would submit to just to watch her for a single moment in a peaceful state.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'll just leave you be."

He turned to leave, the branch snapping completely under his weight, when he felt more than heard her approach him.

"Was there something you needed?" her voice was so placid and he was reminded yet again of her brother's composition of her.

Unfamiliar with this Aydan Cousland, he found himself stuttering over his words, much like when he'd first met her. Those blue eyes seemed to shine through the haze, her pale skin, so soft under his touch, now tinged pink from a slight blush.

For a brief moment he was aware that they were alone, something that also hadn't occurred since the tower.

A clap of thunder drummed over them, followed quickly by a flash of lightening.

"Well you're here now," she stated calmly, brushing past his silence. "Why don't you sit with me for a while?"

Sit with her? Had he heard her right? She lowered down atop a rock, her fingers unwinding the plait she wore beneath her helmet.

"I've been meaning to ask you," her words were relaxed but he could still see the rigid tension among her shoulders. "Why would we seek out Arl Eamon?"

The question was unexpected and in search of an answer, Alistair weaved around the brush to approach the rock. He couldn't help the wave of disappointment coursing through him. It seemed it was always business with this one.

"He wasn't at Ostagar," Alistair stated simply. "He'll still have his men. I simply thought they might assist us."

The eyes that turned to him were sharp. "And have you thought that perhaps he is in league with Loghain? Perhaps there was a reason the Arl's men were not at Ostagar."

Alistair's lips parted in horror. "No, no, I know Arl Eamon. He is an honourable man and would never-"

"Relax," she ordered. "It is simply a question. One that we do need to address."

Alistair fell silent, his chest rising as he inhaled a steadying breath.

"There was a time where a Ferelden could speak those words of Loghain Mac Tir," she stated gently as though sensing this was a sore topic for Alistair. "You cannot truly hold me responsible for thinking the same of Eamon."

"I suppose not," he grumbled, but he didn't have to like it either.

"So I will ask again, what is it about this Arl that convinces you we can trust him?"

His sigh was muffled under the constant patter of rain. "Because he raised me."

The surprise that mounted within her face brought a small smile to his lips.

"You are his son?"

He couldn't help but taunt her. "Would that be so strange to you? To think that I might be the son of an Arl?" his tone might have been teasing, but there was a general curiosity to his question.

"No," she stated definitively. "I just didn't expect that."

Satisfied, a low chuckle rolled out. "Well, no. I am not his son. But he did raise me." At her piqued brow, he saw that he'd have to elaborate. "I'm a bastard, the real kind. My mother was a serving girl at Redcliffe castle and died when I was quite young. The Arl took me in and raised me, I'd like to say as one of his own but that would be a lie. Either way, he _did_ raise me. And he is, or rather was, King Cailan's uncle. He has a personal interest in this. I do know this man and he would never sacrifice the safety of Ferelden in a game of politics. We will be safe with him."

She nodded slowly, but he could see the gears turning. "So your father might not be Arl Eamon, do you know who is?"

Alistair felt his throat constrict. How he loathed that question. Hoping not to give anything away, he'd always been a dreadful liar as it was, he simply shook his head. "I was given a name, but it never meant anything to me."

She peered under her lashes at him, a look that sent shivers down his spine. With her next words, he knew he could never say that Aydan Cousland was not intelligent.

"Interesting how the Arl of Redcliffe, uncle to the King, would take in a bastard son of a serving girl."

It was only the lump that had formed in his throat that kept him from stuttering like a fool.

"Are you sure he's not your real father?" she questioned blithely.

His shoulders slumped in relief. "Absolutely. He sent me away to be raised in the Chantry once he married Lady Isolde."

Her reaction was amusing. "You? You were raised in the Chantry?"

"Now that surprises you?"

For the very first time since stumbling across her in Ostagar where she held him at bay with a sharp blade to his throat, he heard her laugh and a true one at that.

"Oh yes. You are not devout, or am I wrong in assuming that? I admit we do not know one another very well."

"No, you're not wrong," he joined in the soft laughter. "But I had no choice in the matter. Lady Isolde loathed the rumors that pegged me as Eamon's bastard son, likely wondered if they were true herself I'm sure. Either way, off I went the nearest monastery at age ten."

"I would assume that's where you were trained as a templar?"

He jerked straight, his eyes slanting towards her.

An impish grin curved her lips. "Morrigan told me. She was berating me for saving the life of another wasted templar."

"Of course," he chortled. "I suppose that would irritate her. And to answer your question, I was trained as a templar, yes. But I never took my final vows."

She turned on the rock until she was facing the trees, her fingers running languidly through her wavy obsidian hair, water dripping from her ends. "Why?"

He had to drag his gaze from the shimmering ripples to focus on her question. "I was recruited as a Grey Warden. Duncan had to conscript me from the reverend mother."

"I suppose we have that in common, at the very least," she whispered so sadly.

"You were conscripted as well?" he didn't know anything about her other than the fact that Arl Howe had laid siege to her estate. His curiosity burned as Duncan's comment about her sharing the same fate as her parents echoed through his ears.

"Why was Duncan forced to conscript you?" she asked, ignoring his question.

He was beginning to see a pattern with her. He could speak of his life and she could ask questions regarding it, but the conversation seemed forbidden to stray to her.

"Who knows," he finally responded with a shrug. "I just think she didn't like giving more up to the Grey Wardens and certainly not someone who knew the Chantry's secrets."

"Do you find the training agreeable to slaying darkspawn?"

"The emissaries particularly. They're simply mage darkspawn. I am able to drain their will and leave them unarmed, it's quite helpful."

She pulled her thick locks over one shoulder and continued combing it out while both sank into a silence. It was nice here, calming yet refreshing. The bubbling of the small brook off to the east of them only added to the serenity.

"Could you teach it to me?" she finally asked, explaining where her thoughts had strayed to.

"You wish to learn the talents of a templar?"

She nodded slowly. "If it helps fight the darkspawn, it would be of a great assistance to us."

"You certainly possess the stamina for it," he mused. In fact, she would have given many recruits a run for their money back at the Chantry.

She cast a gentle gaze over her lithe shoulder, her fingers sliding through her hair. "Is that a yes?"

He merely nodded, wondering exactly where to begin. Methods of relaxation, surely. He wondered if it would help her in general. Learn to come to peace with whatever it was ailing her.

For a moment, he debated asking of her past, but the fear of her shutting down held his tongue. With a shuddering breath, the words rose in his throat and hovered on the edge of his lips. But just as was about to ask, she leapt from the rock and spun in a tight circle, her sword already hovering at the throat of a gangly elf.

Alistair hadn't even heard their approach. He lunged from the rock himself, his own blade clasped tightly in his hand when the trees around them began to rustle. His gaze rounded in a large circle, taking each and every elf in as they were surrounded.

"Our weapons are trained on you. I would suggest lowering your weapons now before someone gets hurt," a female elf suggested in a dangerous tone, her bow plucked tightly.

Alistair wondered how she would react. Aydan, after all, wasn't entirely the type to back down. And he was right. Her lips pursed, as though thinking of a response. But instead she let out a shrill whistle that almost had him clasping his ears.

A howl in the distance, and some incensed cries, were all that he heard before the circle of surrounding elves were in turn surrounded by their companions.

Farkas crouched low, his bountiful muscles bunching underneath him as he waited in lay. From the fevered murmurs as the elves slanted away from him, Alistair wondered which of them had tasted the bite of a mabari before. The one before him had gone slick in fear, his hands trembling as he struggled to keep his bow strung. Even the leader wearily watched Farkas. How intriguing. Personally, he would have been watching Leliana who callously held a blade to ones throat, or Sten, who's axe remained an inch from splitting another open like a fruit. Even Morrigan, who's stave was held expertly, her eyes dangerously narrowed on the entire group. One ounce of will and the Dalish would fall. Their numbers might have been equal, but it was their strength that outnumbered them.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a slight curve in Aydan's brow as she stared down the leader. "It appears we have reached a stalemate. I would suggest a truce. You order yours to lower their weapons and I will do the same."

The one in front of Alistair scoffed. "We do not trust the word of a shem."

"Oh, I would trust it," Leliana rasped in the ear of the one she held. "Otherwise, you're dead."

Alistair's eyes widened. Apparently the fair Chantry sister had taken Aydan's words to heart. She no longer feared the concept of death.

When none made a move to lower their weapons, Farkas lunged forwards, his teeth snapping at air, his snarls echoing through the clearing.

Each and every elf leapt in their armor.

"So be it," the leader murmured a second before her bow clattered against the rock. One by one the others lowered theirs.

Aydan passed a single look to the entire party and nodded. Alistair righted and sheathed his sword but his eyes were still on them. As he was sure were Sten's, Leliana's, and Morrigan's.

"This is Dalish ground," the leader spoke, her voice a little softer than before without the threat of her bow to back her up.

Aydan gave a single nod. "Good. Then take us to your keeper."

Their laughter came in unison, startling Alistair.

"You think we would willingly take a group of shems to our keeper?"

Aydan closed what little distance remained between the elf and herself. Her gait was confident with a slight sway to her hips that Alistair found calling to his attention. Scolding himself, he snapped his gaze back up to the unfolding scene.

"It would be in your best interest to do so."

"What do you know about our interest?" the elf sniped. "What business would you have with the Dalish?"

Aydan circled around her. "That is between your keeper and I."

"No," she hissed, her face closing in hatred. "You will either tell me now or we draw our weapons and hope for the best."

"You will lose," Leliana growled from the rear. "Do not be foolish."

"And taking you to our keeper isn't?"

Alistair and Aydan shared a simple look and for the first time shared a thought. With a small nod, Aydan turned back to the elf.

"We are Grey Wardens, seeking assistance to fight the Blight. We hold a treaty that dedicates the Dalish to assisting us. That is the business I wish to speak with your keeper about."

An uncomfortable silence folded over them. After what felt like an eternity, the leader finally nodded and flicked her jaw back into the woods. "I will take you to him, but be warned shem, our weapons will be trained on you the entire time."

"Sten?" Aydan murmured.

"I will watch the camp," he offered willingly.

As Sten left in one direction, the remainder of the party trailed after the Dalish, penetrating depths of the Brecilian that few dared.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_"In time, the human empires will crumble. We have seen it happen countless times. Until then, we wait, we keep to the wild border lands, we raise halla and build aravels and present a moving target to the humans around us. We try to keep hold of the old ways, to relearn what was forgotten."_

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"People have always spoken of dark and mysterious woods, haunted by unseeing beings. The Brecilian Forest is one such forest. They say the Veil is thin here and spirits from the Fade pass over, drifting through the tress and giving them an unnatural and sinister intelligence. It is said that if you feel you are being watched in the Brecilian Forest, you are," Leliana spoke in an eerily breathy voice as they passed through a forest of trees, dark shadows cast over them from the thick canopy above.

Both Alistair and Aydan turned as one, but whereas Alistair seemed agitated by these words, Aydan simply shook her head before continuing after the bitter elves, all of which had refused to give them their names. At that, Aydan had requested something to identify them with. The leader had slanted over to spit on the ground, her sneer truly vicious. Call them elf, for that was the only thing shems knew them by it seemed. That quickly, Aydan grew agitated. Clearly this small group of elves had issues with humans and while she could make an allowance for this, enough was enough.

Leliana continued to spout nonsense about the forest, speaking endlessly of ancient battles waged between the elves and Tevinter mages. Apparently the death of so many tore the Veil asunder - that which separates the Fade, a realm belonging to spirits, and the real world.

"Leliana," Aydan snapped, her gaze boring a hole through the young woman. "Enough."

Regardless of Leliana's words, Aydan wondered if that was what she was feeling. She certainly felt the weight of eyes upon her, but she had a feeling that was the Dalish. It would be foolish to think they hadn't accumulated more as they marched towards the camp. But even as she stared out into the thick expanse of trees, shadows swirling thickly amongst the understory, she felt there was something _else_. As though in answer to her thoughts, a low howl pierced the silence. Only Morrigan and she held steadfast. Leliana and Alistair immediately clutched at their blades, the elves following suit.

"Faster," the leader hissed under her breath, quickening the overall pace of the party.

The solid weight of Farkas brushed up against Aydan's thigh and without thinking, she dropped her gloved hand down onto his head, scratching lightly behind his ears. Something was indeed out there if Farkas himself was jumpy.

"We are here," the elf commented, swinging around to stare up at Aydan.

"Where?" Alistair questioned, leaning forward for a better view. Even Aydan had to admit she was curious of the same question. Before her stood more trees.

The elf indicated them forward but she remained behind. It was with a last fleeting look that Aydan allowed her feet to carry her forward. And the moment she reached the edge of the treeline, a narrow path suddenly flourished into a large clearing.

Elves seemed to bustle to and fro, their words hushed and hurried. At first she had thought it to be a result of their presence but not a single one looked up, their eyes cast heavily against the ground as they scurried about.

It was rather easy to distinguish that this had once in fact been a camp. There were carts full of products, little houses lining the pathways, lines with furs hanging from them, and smoke mingling with the low lying clouds. But all this lay abandoned now, things shunted out of the way as dozens of cots stretched across the cleared land. And atop the cots were many injured elves. Blood soaked into the land, bandages lying forlornly across the grass, damp cloths strewn precariously. It looked exactly as she would imagine a war zone.

She pushed through the final trees, her party filing in behind her. With the clang of their armor, every elf within hearing distance fell to a stop, their large shining eyes staring.

"And who might you be?" a deep voice demanded from her right.

Aydan's gaze swung to him, noting a rather tall and thin male elf standing just outside a hut. Like many elves, he kept his hair shorn to the scalp, accentuating the length and degree of his ears. His face was severely inked, the image of a tree darkening his brow. But from his robes and staff, she knew this to be the keeper.

"We are Grey Wardens and we've come to seek the assistance of the Dalish to fight the Blight."

His mud colored eyes remained steady and unwavering as he studied her. "Welcome Grey Wardens. My name is Zathrian and I am the keeper of this clan."

"It seems as though you're having some problems of your own," Alistair spoke up, stepping forward until he was level with Aydan. She cast him a simple look but held silent as she waited for the response.

"Yes," he confirmed. "My people have recently been attacked by a pack of savage beasts, bent on nothing less than destroying every last of my clan."

"Beasts?" Leliana questioned. "Of what sort?"

The keeper's eyes slid towards her. "Werewolves."

"Werewolves!" she gasped. "How extraordinary."

Aydan knew the moment the keeper decided he didn't like her. "I can assure you, it is nothing of the sort."

"Oh," she stuttered. "No, of course not."

Aydan flicked an annoyed glance at Alistair, silently placing the blame for the chantry sister on him.

"Come," Morrigan's hand curled around the young woman's arm and pulled her towards the elves. "Let's leave the Wardens to their business lest you offend any others."

Finally alone, Aydan turned back to the keeper. "Is there no help you can offer whatsoever?"

His laugh was bitter and without another word he led her towards the line of beds. "Warriors, hunters, cooks, the werewolves do not care who they take. And what few remain untainted are too terrified to do much of anything, let alone assist with a Blight, fighting more creatures of darkness."

"Tainted?" Alistair repeated.

"A werewolf's bite is contagious as it is. It only takes one for its victim to be subjected to the poison. It works through the body until nothing remains but a feral, soulless beast determined to kill."

Her shoulders slumped as disappointment weaved through her. While the Dalish were not the strongest warriors in front assaults, their bows were of legend. It would have been ideal to have them as support.

She turned to Alistair, her brow arching in question. What were they to do? There had always been talk of multiple Dalish clans and perhaps another would be the best, but they could not simply wander the forests forever in search of another.

"Of course," Zathrian mused, stepping away from the two Wardens and turning towards his injured. "If someone were to cure my people, surely I would feel obliged to help them with whatever task they might ask of me."

She asked the only question on her mind. "Cure them how?"

"There is one," he informed them. "By the name of Witherfang. The curse is tied to it. It's a beast, very much like the werewolves. Its heart would provide me the opportunity to cure my people."

"And I take it you would ask me to hunt this creature for you?" Aydan snapped. It wasn't as though she had more important priorities, like ending a Blight and destroying an archdemon. No, now she was to hunt for some creature named Witherfang.

"I would never ask such a thing," Zathrian commented. "I would simply remind you that you require people and I require mine to be healed. By working together, both of us can achieve our desires."

Her eyes fluttered shut as she struggled to reign in the irritation she felt building in the pit of her stomach. Pinching her brow between her thumb and index, she turned back to Alistair. "What do you think?"

"You're asking me?" he asked with wide eyes.

"I'm not the only Grey Warden here," she growled.

"Right. Sorry." His eyes flashed between Aydan and the keeper. "Well," he finally said after a deep breath. "It doesn't seem as though we have much of a choice. We desperately need help and so do the Dalish. If we could find this Witherfang, we'll have the beginnings of our army."

She hated that their thoughts had strayed so closely to one another. Part of her had wanted him to throw his hands up and say no, there were other more pressing matters to be dealt with.

Sighing, she turned back to the keeper, nodding blithely. "So be it. Where can we find this Witherfang?"

"Excellent. I will send with you one of my own. She was the last to sight the beast and she can lead you to that spot."

Aydan's shoulders tightened, her jaw ground in irritation. She loathed the idea of yet another companion forced upon them.

"I would caution you, though, to have patience with her. She is not from the forest and is still learning her way."

Aydan ensured her glare was as dark as possible as she watched the keeper beckon a young female elf his way.

"This is Kallian Tabris," he stated. "From the Denerim alienage. She's new to the clan but is also quite skilled with a blade. I think you will find her talents quite helpful."

Aydan merely nodded before turning and walking off, listening to Alistair stumble over his words as he introduced himself and thanked the keeper for his help.

The irritation building under the surface seemed endless. Just a week ago, she'd been training with Ser Gilmore, laughing with her brother and father, and playing with her little Oren. Now she was apparently hunting werewolves in order to secure the Dalish's help to find the Blight, with a city elf and chantry sister following in her wake. Oh, and she mustn't forget the apostate and daughter of the witch of the wilds. She could never forget that.

-Alistair-

Try as he might, it seemed to be a laborious task to maintain the peace. Something was obviously bothering Aydan and he suspected even he knew what it was with every rankled sigh or pointed glare that was directed towards Kallian. He just wasn't sure what it was about the elf that offended her so. She seemed nice enough, at least to Alistair. The only thing he could think of was her constant bubbling of happiness.

"I've never known such freedom before," the young woman mused as she slid among the trees. Alistair tried to keep his eyes on the road, exactly as Aydan had done, but it was hard not to take notice of how the leaves curved towards her, or the tall grass, as though every bit of nature longed to touch her. He'd heard stories of the elvhen and how the natural world responded to them but to see it first hand was a touch alarming.

"Just show us the way," Aydan groused.

Alistair almost laughed when he caught sight of her fingers brushing against the hilt of her blades. A telling sign of her emotional state and it was not impressed.

Kallian swung back around, her grey eyes skirting over Alistair. He'd never met a city elf before that wasn't mewling in pain or begging for wares, so it was quite a change to meet her. As he stared, she swept back a lock of purely white hair, tucking it behind her pointed ears.

"Have I done something to offend you?" she asked softly.

It was Morrigan who laughed but offered no explanation.

Aydan stopped, her hand clamping down on her blade. "Just show us the way." This time her words came heated and rough as though she were growling.

Alistair watched her eyes widen. Before the two started fighting, he stepped forward and drew both ladies attention to him. "Kallian, none of the other Dalish seem to want to enter the forest, and yet you were quite happy to?"

Aydan let out another lengthy sigh before pressing forwards.

"Oh," the elf grinned happily. "The forest has no issues with me. I am not Dalish and I think they know that."

"They?"

"The werewolves."

"The werewolves _know_ you're not Dalish?" Alistair tried the words himself but there was obviously something wrong with this statement. Werewolves were mindless beasts, as Zathrian told them. Their only desire was to kill. It seemed a tad strange that they would only kill the Dalish and leave another elf alone.

But she nodded emphatically, her locks bouncing with her movements. "They've seen me and come near me. I thought at first they would attack as they had all the others, but after a single sniff, they let me on my way."

Even Aydan turned at this, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she followed the conversation. "You mean to say the werewolves are hunting only the Dalish?"

"Oh, I don't know anything about that," Kallian responded. "I'm just saying that they know I'm not one of them."

"A beast with an agenda?" Morrigan quipped.

The two woman locked gazes, a shared thought passing between them, one Alistair could not hone in on.

"Onwards," Aydan ordered. "Where did you last spot them?"

Kallian slowly sidled up next to Aydan, casting her a wary glance as she did. "Just beyond the stream here," she murmured. "They tend to stand guard."

"Stand guard?" Leliana questioned. "There is much we were not told about these creatures it seems."

"Indeed," Morrigan nodded.

Alistair watched the entire group turn ever watchful eyes out into the trees. It was then that he felt it, a heavy presence as though something was watching them. Leliana's former words crept back up on him. _It is said that if you feel you are being watched in the Brecilian Forest, you are._

He slid in the rear position, his fingers hovering just above his own weapon, waiting for the moment.

His feet thumped down on a wooden makeshift bridge, leading towards a tiny section of land islanded among the stream. On the other side was another bridge. But it was this little island that drew his gaze. A shadow dropped from the sky, its landing heavy and solid. At first he couldn't believe his eyes, but as they climbed the monstrously large body, settling on the fangs, he knew this had to be it. They had found their first werewolf. And just as he came to that realization, three others slid in behind the first, their beast-like eyes reminiscent of Morrigan's.

Its growl was deeper than Farkas', its height greater than that of Sten's.

"The watch-wolves have spoken truly, my brothers and sisters."

A collective state of shock swept over the entire group.

"They can talk!" Leliana exclaimed. "Wait, did you know they could talk?" her gaze had flicked to Kallian who stood just in awe as all the rest. It would seem she hadn't.

"The Dalish send a human, of all things, to repay us for our attack, to put us in our place. What bitter irony. And what is this? Another elf?" the obvious leader mused, approaching Kallian slowly. "But you do not smell like Dalish."

"I-I'm not," she stuttered.

Even Alistair was unimpressed. Zathrian had spoken of her talents with a blade quite impassionedly. And yet at the first sign of danger, this little elf was wilting under the pressure.

Aydan stared the beast down before finally stating. "I am no servant of the Dalish."

"Do you take us for **fools**?" the creature gave an incensed roar. "We know you come from their camp beyond the forest. No doubt the old keeper himself sent you."

Not just able to speak it seemed, but intelligent to, Alistair mused.

"You speak to Swiftrunner," the werewolf continued. "I lead my accursed brother and sisters," another low growl slid through the trees. "Turn back now, go back to the Dalish, and tell them that you have failed."

"Failed?" Aydan mused, pressing forward until she was within a hair's distance of the beast. Alistair's heart thrummed anxiously. If what they had seen in the Dalish camp was true, one single bite would affect her.

"Tell them we will gladly watch them suffer the same curse we have suffered for too long! We will watch them pay!"

"Oh wonderful," Aydan sniped. "We've stumbled into a blood feud."

"The keeper failed to mention that," Morrigan spoke. "Perhaps we should leave and let the Dalish fall."

"What?" Kallian gasped. "You can't do that!"

"And why not?" Morrigan continued. "Your keeper sent us out here with false information. Mindless beasts, he called them. They clearly are not. _This_ is a personal vendetta."

"But…" Kallian whispered, her crumpled face bouncing between party members as she silently pleaded for help. "Those elves back there are suffering!"

"We are Grey Wardens," Aydan spoke. "And that means something. The Blight is my priority, not a blood feud between elf and beast."

"Aydan," Alistair tried. "We can't simply leave them like this. We need an army. We need the Dalish. And to procure their help, we _must_ deal with whatever situation is brewing here."

Aydan's gaze slid over him and it was easy to spot her anger. Her eyes had hardened, the fury sparking with his every word.

"You wish for us to play nurse maid to the Dalish? To lower ourselves to trading blows with a common beast simply because the keeper demands it?"

He gave a soft nod. "We are Grey Wardens, and do what must be done."

She stiffened, her eyes widening with his sentence. He wasn't entirely sure why, but when she suddenly blinked back tears he wondered what he'd stepped in.

"Swiftrunner," Alistair spoke, allowing Aydan a moment to collect herself. "We mean you no harm. If we could resolve this issue peaceably, it would be best for everyone involved."

"Was it not Zathrian that sent you?" he growled. "He wishes only our destruction, never to talk!"

"He sent us here to destroy a wolf by the name of Witherfang," Aydan informed him coldly.

"No!" Swiftrunner barked. "The time for peace is long past! There will be no peace between the elves and we who are cursed."

"Why do you hate the Dalish so much?" Kallian asked softly.

"You know nothing, do you? Nothing of us and even less of those you serve. You are a fool!" he rasped. "And we are done talking."

Aydan drew her blade instantly, the steel shimmering in the light. Recognizing the signal, all the rest did the same.

"Run from the forest while you can. Run to the Dalish and tell them they are doomed."

"We don't wish to fight you," Alistair commented, noting the scoff that rose from Aydan's chest.

"I do not wish to fight you, either, but we cannot trust you. Come, brothers and sisters, let us retreat. The forest has eyes of its own, and it will deal with intruders as it always has."

His low howl pierced the air before the small pack turned and bolted back into the trees.

"This is ridiculous," Aydan hissed angrily, spinning on her heel to pace the length of the island. "We should simply leave. Let the Dalish sort out their own problems. We have plenty of our own to contend with."

Alistair turned an inquiring glance to the rest of his companions. It was Leliana who first understood. Her hand closed around Morrigan's arm and with a nod to Kallian, led them back the way they came, granting Alistair a moment with Aydan. He knew Farkas wouldn't leave her side and he didn't even try.

"Aydan," he started, his voice calm in hopes of inspiring the same within her. "We need to follow through with this. Without an army, Ferelden falls to the Blight. Would you have that happen?"

"No," she snapped, her steps falling to a stop before him. "Of course not."

"Then we need the Dalish. I know how you feel, trust me, I feel the same. But we both know we cannot simply turn our backs on those sickly elves because their keeper hid some information from us. We should continue with our original plan. Seek our Witherfang and bring Zathrian the heart. Once the cure can be made, we have our Dalish."

She slid her blade home with an angry sneer. "Fine. But if something else goes wrong, I'll feed Zathrian to the wolves myself."

"Fair enough," he chuckled, a sense of pride swelling within him when he realized he had talked some sense into their easily angered leader.

"Back in formation!" she shouted heatedly to the other three companions, hovering around a specific flower. Leliana was cooing happily about something, the petals framed in the palm of her hand. But at the sound of Aydan's sharp tongue, they rushed back over, ready to press further into the forest.

* * *

><p>AN: Just in case some people didn't realize, Kallian Tabris is the city elf origin character. This one is mimicked after one of my own. Hopefully everyone is still enjoying the story! Please review and let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"_I have known love and hope, pain and fear...yet I desire nothing more than an end._"

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

"Tell me Kallian," Leliana spoke up, breaking what felt like an eternal silence. Alistair was grateful for it. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. At every turn there seemed to be more walking dead, dragons, and Maker only knew what else. "Why did you leave the alienage?"

"Is this really the appropriate time?" Aydan hissed, her dark gaze sliding back over her shoulder.

"If not now, when?" Leliana responded with a lithe shrug. "I'm beginning to believe we will never again walk under the sun."

The entire party faltered, different glares ranging from amused to shocked to incensed.

"Swiftrunner came in here, we'll find him," she grumbled.

"And until then," Leliana countered. "Kallian, tell me why you left the alienage."

Alistair saw the poor elf shoot a nervous glance towards Aydan. It was safe to say yet another companion was terrified out of their wits when in her presence.

"Such a long story," she murmured, her voice quiet as though she was afraid to rouse something from the many different shadows.

"Well, seeing as we've been stuck down here for what feels like days, I'd say your tale might be enlightening."

The elf gave a small shrug, her eyes lingering on Leliana's back. Alistair felt her restraint. Perhaps they had gained another companion with a sorrow filled story.

"Why does anyone wish to leave an alienage?" she asked. "I was tired of the life there. So many of my kind had left to find the Dalish and they never returned. I could only assume that meant they found them. I wanted that kind of freedom."

Leliana's smooth chuckle seemed unfitting for their environment. They passed through yet another dark hallway, the walls crumbling in on themselves, corpses and bones lining the floor, webs dangling from the ceiling. And yet, the chantry sister laughed.

"That's hardly a long story."

Kallian's sigh ran through the group. "It was the day my cousin Soris and I were to be married when a shem appeared in the alienage. He started threatening my people, demanding women for a small party, only the women were the entertainment. My other cousin Shianni, impulsive as ever, struck him down. Some thought that was to be the end of it, but Soris and I knew better. Just as our weddings were about to begin, this man returned and everything took a turn for the worst. He took Soris' bride, a couple of our friends, Shianni, and me back to his estate. He promised that should we survive the games he and his friends had planned, he'd return us to our men, a little worse for wear."

Alistair felt sick hearing these words. Never in his life could he imagine forcing himself on a woman, of any species.

"I don't know how, I never had a chance to ask, but Soris and my betrothed managed to get to me. Somehow they'd managed to steal a weapon and once I felt the hilt in my hand, I knew everything was going to be alright. My mother had been a talented warrior and she taught me everything she knew. Needless to say, with Soris' help, we managed to free my friends. But not before that twisted, foul man laid his hands upon my cousin. I enjoyed gutting him," she stated gently. "But, with the death of an Arl's son hovering over me, I couldn't return to the alienage. Soris and I got the women out and then he told me to run. The streets would have run red with elven blood if I returned. So I did. I ran until I found the Dalish and they took me in."

"Were you married?" Leliana asked softly.

"No," Kallian murmured. "Nelaros was killed while Soris was searching for me. He died to protect me."

For some reason, Alistair's gaze wandered over to Aydan who had been remarkably quiet throughout the entire tale. But what surprised him was the grip she held on her blade, so tight her knuckles had whitened.

"Aydan?" he questioned, his heart skipping a beat when her own gaze snapped to him. There was pain behind her eyes, the torturous kind that simply never went away.

"How brave of you," Leliana crooned towards Kallian, drawing her in for a loose one armed embrace.

They'd all witnessed her actual skill with a blade the moment they'd finished speaking with Swiftrunner. He'd threatened the forest would take care of itself and indeed it tried. It had seemed they couldn't walk but a hundred meters without some beast attacking. The only creature that seemed pleasant and willing to help was this strange talking tree. And he still couldn't wrap his mind around that one. Without the trees help, they never would have been able to penetrate the magic of the forest, revealing the location of the ruins.

But it seemed Aydan had picked up on something that everyone else missed. "Which Arl?" she questioned.

"What?" Kallian stumbled, shocked that Aydan was addressing her, Alistair wagered.

"You said 'the death of an Arl's son hovering over you'. Which Arl?"

"Oh, the Arl of Denerim of course."

Aydan gave a small nod, simply accepting this as fact. Alistair wondered if she'd known him. Being a Cousland, she would certainly be involved in politics.

"The world is better off without him," she finally stated.

Even Kallian seemed surprised. "You knew him?"

"Yes," her response was as quiet as a whisper, but they all heard her in the hallowed silence of the halls.

"Who are you?" Kallian questioned. It wasn't as though a common person would have interactions with an Arl's son.

Aydan's gaze lingered on the elf for a mere moment before responding, "No one of significance."

Alistair's heart broke just hearing those words.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"Hold brothers and sisters, be of peace. We do not wish any more of our people dead. I ask you this now, outsider, are you willing to parley?"

"Parley?" Aydan demanded of the few wolves surrounding them. "Now you wish to parley? When we offered this option in the forest, your people attacked us. And now that we've worked our way this far into your sanctuary, you request parley?"

"We wish no more death," he repeated.

"When so many already lie in ashes," she grumbled, turning to pace a line before the wolf.

His growl leaked over her skin. "Will you parley?"

"We're talking now," she stated with a dismissive wave. "So talk."

"Not with me," he snarled. "With the Lady."

Aydan cast a gaze upon the rest of her group. None of them had heard talk of a Lady. "By all means," she said. "Lead the way."

"Then follow me. But I warn you, if you harm her, I will come back from the Fade itself to see you pay."

Aydan's brow arched curiously, but held quiet as she gestured him forward.

The wolf led them down a crumbling stairwell, the scent of soil and growth augmenting with every step she took. It seemed an intriguing combination at the depths they were penetrating.

The door seemed to open of its own accord just seconds before they approached it and what lay beyond was more than Aydan ever could have imagined. Certainly the woman, if that word could be used, stood centered on a dais, awaiting their presence. Her entire peripheral was guarded by wolves. No matter the numbers they had dispatched throughout the above levels, apparently many still remained. But it was the way they hovered protectively about her that told Aydan much more than she was sure she was supposed to.

"I bid you welcome mortal," the woman's voice was ethereal but beautiful. "I am the Lady of the Forest."

"Witherfang you mean?" Aydan spitballed, hoping for a true response. From the enraged snarls of the werewolves, she knew she had struck it correctly. Without so much a flicker, the Lady's fingers trailed down the length of Swiftrunner's arm. And as sure as the trees sprouting from the ground, the werewolf collapsed to his knees, his head hung in despair.

"I go by many names," the Lady whispered.

Lips reared back, Swiftrunner rose to his feet, his ire filled eyes burning through Aydan's. "She will betray you, we must attack her now!"

"Hush Swiftrunner," the Lady cautioned. Aydan slanted towards her back heel, her arms crossed over her armoured chest. Their advances had proved entirely unsuccessful, it was the reason they stood here, speaking with this Lady. And yet, this werewolf was under the impression that his threat meant anything. She knew from the saddened eyes of the Lady that she realized this to be truth as well. "Your urge for battle has only seen dead the very ones that you wish to save. Is that what you truly desire?"

"No, my Lady," he submitted.

"The time has come to speak with this outsider, to set our rage aside. I apologize on Swiftrunner's behalf," she spoke softly, turning to face Aydan. "He struggles with his nature."

Aydan's lips curved into an unpleasant smile. "As do we all, I'm sure." She hadn't meant for it to excuse his behaviour. Yet, it seemed to come out that way regardless.

"Truer words are yet to be spoken," she agreed. "But few can claim the same as these creatures. The entire nature is a form set cursed upon them. No doubt you have a few questions."

"Not entirely," Aydan admitted. "It was rather simple to figure out that you are the one Zathrian wishes for me to kill."

"Yet, one would assume you would desire all the answers first before coming to such a decision."

Alistair and Aydan shared a look. Her words rang true and with a sigh, Aydan straightened. "And what answers might those be?"

"It was Zathrian who created the curse," she admitted. "The same curse that Zathrian's own people now suffer. Centuries ago when the Dalish first came to this land, a tribe of humans lived close to this forest. They sought to drive the Dalish away. Zathrian was a young man then, he had a son and daughter he loved greatly and while out hunting, the human tribe captured them both."

Aydan could only imagine this tale was going to get worse. And when the werewolf stood again, it was his words that they now listened.

"The humans tortured the boy, killed him, the girl they raped and left for dead. The Dalish found her but she learned later she was with child. She killed herself."

"So Zathrian cursed them, I take it?" Leliana whispered from the back.

"Zathrian came to this room and summoned the terrible spirit and bound it to the body of a great wolf. So Witherfang came to be. Witherfang hunted the men of the tribe. Many were killed, but others were cursed by his blood, becoming twisted and savage creatures."

"Twisted and savage as Witherfang himself is."

"But _you_ are Witherfang," Aydan stated.

"Once perhaps. The curse Zathrian laid upon these people lived on past its intended purpose, spreading pain and death to countless more over the centuries; until I came back to the wolves in this form.

"The cursed were driven into the forest," she continued with her story. "When the human tribe finally left, their cursed brethren remained, pitiful and mindless animals."

"Until you returned to us, Lady. You gave me peace," Swiftrunner murmured softly.

"I showed Swiftrunner there was another side to his doomed nature. I soothed his rage and his humanity emerged. He brought others to me."

"And now you feel it appropriate to pass this curse onto the Dalish. Fitting," Aydan accused. "Seeing as they were the ones to deliver it upon you first."

"We merely desired to force Zathrian's hand. Without him this curse cannot be lifted. By showing him the true nature of the beast, we hoped he would seek me out and put an end to this," the Lady explained.

"Hold," Alistair chimed. "What do you mean without him the curse cannot be lifted? We were informed that Witherfang's heart would end this curse."

A hum of growls echoed through the chamber.

"Perhaps that is what Zathrian believes, but I assure you that is not the case. It will take the both of us together to put an end to this. Then and only then will his people be freed."

From the very first moment, it was one thing after another with this man. A wild goose chase he had set them on when he was the one required to end this.

"I beg of you outsider. If you bring him here and help convince him to assist, we can end this with very little death."

"You mean more than there already has been?" Aydan snapped. "If any of you had simply been honest with me to begin with, those that have died would still be alive."

"I understand your anger, but we did not know if we could trust you."

"And you think you can now?" she shouted, fuelled by the angry swipes by the nearby werewolves. "What is stopping me from simply bringing Zathrian your heart and hoping that is enough?"

"Aydan," Alistair crooned. "Calm down."

"You deal with this," she hissed, turning away from the Lady and stalking to the back of the group next to Morrigan. It angered her that so many lives had been lost. And not those of mindless beasts, but of men trapped in a curse. A blood feud she had called it when beginning this ill begotten quest and how finely she had nailed it.

Aydan's head shot up when she heard Alistair say, "We will bring Zathrian here. Hopefully then we can put an end to all of this."

Before she could utter another word, Alistair's hand clamped down on hers and led her from the chambers, but they didn't stray too far. As they climbed the stairs, Aydan was fuming. Such a waste, all of it.

But as they reached the top, another figure crouched before them, his hand hovering over some bones.

"Ah, and here you are already," his voice rose as he did.

"Why am I not surprised you followed us here Zathrian," Aydan demanded.

"You have carved a safe path through the forest, safe enough for me to follow, anyhow."

Morrigan's laugh was the loudest between the two of them. "He wishes to see if we did his work for him. Is that not why you are here now, sorcerer?"

"Do not call me that, witch," he spat. "I am keeper of this clan, and have done what I must. Did you acquire the heart?"

"Done what he must," Aydan repeated, swinging her hand away from Alistair as she approached the keeper. "Like cursing a group of humans into werewolves to exact revenge?"

The keeper's eyes flicked to her but his lips held still with the promise of silence.

"Nothing to say on your behalf?" she questioned.

"Did you acquire the heart?" was all he said.

"No, we didn't," she announced proudly.

His face narrowed in anger, his eyes flashing as he watched her. "Then why are you leaving the ruin?"

"The Lady of the Forest sent me to bring you back to her." Aydan was curious about his reaction and sure enough the moment the words left her mouth, the keeper grew even angrier.

"Oh? Is that what the spirit calls herself, now? And what does she want with me, if I might inquire."

There was something holding Aydan back from explaining the exact thing the Lady wanted. Zathrian didn't seem the selfless type, ready to give his life up at the drop of a hat. And so she simply turned and started back towards the chamber.

"And what if the werewolves decide to attack me upon sight?" he called behind her. "Would you fight to defend me?"

Aydan cast a dark look over her shoulder, catching the first flicker of true emotion across the man's face. "If I must."

"I do not see the point of this but if I must come to finally put an end to this, I will do so. Take me to this Lady and we shall finally have peace."

_Peace_, Aydan scoffed. She doubted the man even knew what the word meant. But as he passed her to stalk down the stairway, a stray thought brought Aydan to a stop. How was she any different than he? His family had been slaughtered, just as hers. The curse he cast upon the humans had been meant as punishment, so was she any different? How she longed to feel the heartbeat of Howe flutter beneath her hands, how she desired to feed him the Cousland blade. Zathrian's vengeance had injured so many, even innocents, those that had nothing to do with the initial insult.

"Aydan, are you coming?" Morrigan called from the bottom of the stairs, rousing her from her poisoned thoughts.

With a nod, she began the descent, her mood darkening with every step. Focusing her attention on the matter at hand, she pushed past the door to find the Lady and Zathrian already in a heated debate.

"Wild savages!" he cried at her. "Worthless dogs. Their twisted shape only mirrors their monstrous hearts."

Aydan's thoughts drifted once more to the image of her father. Was this how Zathrian felt upon finding his son? Or after his daughter took her own life?

"So long as the curse lives, so does Zathrian," the Lady admitted.

The entire chamber fell into an eerie silence, all clearly waiting for someone to say something.

Aydan couldn't believe what she was about to say, with her own desire for vengeance still hot against her tongue. But it seemed the words were to come spilling out either way. "How far will you go for revenge, Zathrian?" she questioned softly, posing the same question to herself. She had promised her mother and father both vengeance. But was that truly the best? Did vengeance outweigh that of justice? Suddenly she was unsure.

It seemed his answer had fallen on deaf ears, as suddenly Swiftrunner was threatening death, stating it was the only way to end the curse.

Zathrian's incensed words bounced off the walls as he stalked off, drawing his stave. It seemed this would end in a fight after all.

As sure a method as a cold splash of water in the face, Aydan roused herself from her thoughts and stowed them away for later. Just seconds after Zathrian lifted his stave in the air, she fell upon him, her steel tasting deeply of his flesh. Her companions followed in her wake, their own attacks falling upon the trees as they were woken from a deep slumber to fight at Zathrian's side.

Keeper he might be and while skilled at magic, he was clearly no warrior. She knew the moment he directed a spell towards her. Ducking around him, she lashed out, her armoured boot landing sickly against the back of his knee, drilling him down into the ground. The crunch of his bones echoed through her ears, matched only by the sound of his stave clattering to the ground. But she knew a little of mages, and knew that the stave was simply a focusing object. She'd meant to dodge the next spell, but as she tucked and weaved around a tree, a curious sensation swirled around her legs. She was jerked out of motion so quickly, she thought she might fall, but the strength of the spell held her upright, thick icicles forming and rising above her knees. Panic clawed its way out of her throat the moment a thick wall of ice sealed over her head. A chill infused her bones and through the crystallized ice, she watched as her friends battled for their lives.

Zathrian rose and limped over to her, a malicious smile curving his lips. She remained frozen, an absolute chill creeping over her. Were she not locked in place, trapped in a tomb of ice, she might have found the energy to shake with the chills. He rose before her, his shadow casting ominously down on her. She struggled to force out any sound, call for help, draw attention to her situation, anything, but it was all lost to the expanse of ice.

As he lifted his stave, she knew this was it. Ill equipped for magic, she knew the only one that could help her was Alistair and he was too busy with a mob of feral trees to take notice of her predicament.

A larger shadow swept over them both and Aydan's eyes flicked up to notice Swiftrunner looming over them both. As his massive hand came swiping down at Zathrian, the spell holding her shattered, shards of ice tumbling to the ground. Yet still, she found it difficult to move, her limbs utterly frozen, her blood chilled to a dangerous degree.

"Enough!" she finally heard Zathrian cry out. "If you kill me beast, your curse will remain forever."

Swiftrunner halted, his fierce gaze staring the elf down. "Finish it," he demanded. "Release us."

"I cannot do it," he admitted. "All I see before me are the faces of my children, of my people."

"Wou-would you really... really let your cl-clan die? For th-this?" Aydan stammered as she stumbled towards Alistair. Later she would focus on the fact that she very nearly died. For now, she simply wanted this entire mess finished with.

"Perhaps I have lived too long," he panted, clearly tired from his battle with the werewolf. "This hatred in me is like an ancient gnarled root, it has consumed my soul. What of you spirit. You are bound to the curse just as I am. Do you not fear your end?"

"You are my maker Zathrian," she sighed peacefully. "You gave me form and consciousness. I have known pain and love, hope and fear, all the joy that is known in life. Yet of all things, I desire nothing more than an end. I beg you, Maker, put an end to me. We beg you, show mercy."

With the sudden bowing of his head, Aydan knew this was all finally coming to an end. Even the werewolves seemed to understand as the remaining approached their Lady, and were allowed to touch her one last time before Zathrian's stave slammed down into the earth. A magnificent light poured out, bathing over them all. Aydan brought her arm up to shield against it, the warmth sadly not helping her in the slightest. But when it faded, it was Zathrian's crumpled body her gaze landed upon and nowhere could she see the Lady. All that remained was a group of frightened humans, who's animalistic eyes remained.

Aydan turned to look upon her group but all seemed healthy and unharmed. "Come," she murmured to them, her teeth still chattering. "Let's return and inform the Dalish. Hopefully they will still agree to assist us."

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks so much to all the reviews last chapter! It was great and I'm glad everyone is enjoying the story :)

I2 - since I can't message you, I just thought I'd write on here: thanks for that awesome review! I hope you enjoy where everything else is going :)


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_The Old Gods will call to you,_  
><em>From their ancient prisons they will sing.<em>  
><em>Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts,<em>  
><em>On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight,<em>  
><em>The first of My children, lost to night.<em>

_Silence 3:16_

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

Some trick of the light made it seem as though their return to Sten was quicker than when they'd left. As per normal, or so it seemed, they returned to camp in the thick of the night.

Animated chatter surrounded her as her companions discussed the pointless plight of Zathrian, who they deemed deserving of his end, even Kallian, who Aydan thought might have felt a little remorse at her keeper's passing. When attempting to draw Aydan into the conversation, she'd merely remained silent, his actions a little too understandable for her.

They'd returned to the Dalish camp, all dreading informing them of Zathrian's passing, to find that somehow they already knew. Lanaya, his second, had somehow known the moment it happened and she had already taken up her post as keeper. All around them, elves rose from their ailing states, their wounds healing, the disease diminishing. It seemed the curse well and truly was gone. It was then Lanaya promised a contingent of men for their army. Aydan had nodded graciously and accepted that. And so they had their beginnings. But it was when she had turned to Kallian and issued an invitation to join them that the entire party fell silent. It was no secret that she loathed the idea of new companions. But the woman had proved rather useful with a blade. And, as she kept getting reminded, they needed all the help they could get. Without even a hint of hesitation, the elf leapt on the offer, thanking Aydan constantly for the chance to do something worthwhile with her life. Even Leliana had seemed happy, immediately leading the elf back to camp with promises of braiding her hair to keep it out of her face.

But now they all sat around the fire, laughter swelling amongst them as they joked and got to know one another. On any other night before this one, it might have annoyed her, but tonight it actually warmed her heart, if only a little, to see the people that she had come to travel with happy.

She struggled silently to keep her thoughts from surfacing. The last thing she wanted right now was to think of Zathrian and his actions. Yet the harder she tried, the louder her thoughts seemed to become. How was she any different than him? He'd allowed himself to become twisted and warped into this hateful creature. Keeper of his people, he'd tended after them and she was sure loved them. But to let so many fall to this curse when he knew it was of his making, all because he sought vengeance.

"Aydan?" Alistair's voice was so close.

She startled, oblivious to the fact that he had seated himself next to her. "Hello Alistair," she murmured emotionlessly.

He studied her face for a moment before nodding towards her bed. "Why don't you get some rest? You need it. Sten and Leliana have agreed to keep watch tonight."

Her gaze slowly slid over to her chilled bedroll. She hadn't slept in longer than she could remember. And her bones felt so heavy because of it. Zathrian had refused to face the truth that his family had died, he had clung to the concept of vengeance in hopes of keeping them alive, if only in his head. He'd even said all he could see were the faces of his family.

She cautiously rose from her seat and approached her bedroll. Alistair was right, she did need rest. Without, she doubted she'd make it another day before collapsing. Even now her limbs drooped and her head throbbed with what she was sure was the beginning of a migraine.

The moment she slid between the covers and allowed her eyes to drift shut, she was gone.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

He'd taken to his own bedroll, but instead of sleeping, he found his gaze wondering to the ever still form of Aydan. He hadn't been surprised when she'd dropped right off. The woman had been fighting it for days. The only question that remained was would she manage to stay asleep. The entire party was a touch concerned for her, they'd been discussing it as they sat around the fire while she hovered in the shadows across camp, staring dejectedly at her sword. But something had changed today and he wasn't entirely sure he understood what it was. She seemed... defeated, almost. And it worried him to see it.

Exhausted as she was, she didn't even seem aware of Kallian's and Leliana's laughter chiming through the camp. Even he'd been happy when she delivered the invitation to the elf. Alistair hadn't expected it and had wondered if he'd have to do it when the words flowed from her lips. She would be helpful, that was for sure. She knew her way around a blade and she brought a sense of happiness to the camp. Even Morrigan had chosen to remain at camp that night, joining in on the conversation. And regardless of Alistair's absolute hatred for the woman, even he appreciated her company.

At first he'd meant to discuss with her their next course of action. Having procured armor for Sten already, there really was no need to go to Denerim. But he wondered if they should anyways, they did require more supplies and it wouldn't hurt to stock up. With a larger group, they'd certainly need more food soon. But when he'd approached her, she'd been so lost to her thoughts that she hadn't even heard him until he called her name.

Rolling onto his back, Alistair stared at the stars above. He, too, was tired, the entire campaign involving the ruins and the werewolves had left him feeling slightly drained. Even his ears locked out the sounds of Leliana and Kallian laughing and drinking around the fire. Sten was on guard first and Alistair simply hoped Leliana would get some rest before taking her shift. As he thought on that, his eyes drifted shut, all sounds slipping away as he fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

Her eyes had drifted shut for what felt like mere moments before flickers of fire and blood brought her upright in her bedroll. The silence of camp betrayed her heavy breathing. It was later than she thought and across the camp sat Leliana, her fingers twirling the white locks of Kallian, who slumbered next to her. Aydan's chest rose fitfully, her brow slick with sweat, her fingers clenched in tight fists.

"Bad dreams?" a soft voice tone sounded next to her.

Her gaze slid to her right, surprised to find Alistair upright in his own bedroll, awake and attentive.

Her breath came out in a shudder, mist forming from the hot air, puffing towards the fire. _Bad_ didn't begin to explain it, but she refused to describe her plight to her fellow Warden. It was not his concern and she disproved placing the burden upon him. She'd feared sleeping since the night of the joining. While that dragon confused her, it wasn't the only image plaguing her mind. Upon waking that night in the tent, the image of her mother curled around Arl Howe's sword had infested within her. She wanted nothing more than to simply sleep and forget, but her mind seemed to desire otherwise.

"What are you doing awake?" she asked, cringing at the sound of her feeble voice, high pitched as though frightened.

"I heard you thrashing about in your bedroll."

She turned away, her teeth gnashing down on her lower lip. If only he had woken her, he might have spared her the pain.

"Dreams are meant to happen," he told her calmly. "It's how we deal with things bothering us."

"Then you suffer them," she groused, her gaze burning a hole through the fire pit.

"You don't think I do?" he questioned. His voice had gone so quiet she had to strain to hear him.

The question drew her gaze back towards him. Sitting under the night sky, there was something... relaxing about him. He sat with his back against another log, his one knee drawn into his chest with his arms wrapped loosely around it. The shadows darkened his hair and added an edge to his face that she hadn't noticed before. But when that amber gaze slammed back into hers, she turned away with a sigh.

"The dreams are part of being a Grey Warden and being able to hear the darkspawn. I've heard they are worse for those who joined during a blight."

"What does being a Grey Warden have anything to do with nightmares?" she demanded sourly.

"The dragon?" he questioned. "That's the archdemon. And we feel it just as they do. That's how Duncan knew this was a blight. It _talks_ to the horde. It takes a while but eventually you should be able to block them out."

Her laugh was bitter. "I've seen the dragon once, the night of my joining. And that's it."

She felt his gaze weighing on her but instead of meeting it, she rose from her bed and strapped the blades back to her side.

"Then that dream just now...?"

"There are other, equally horrible things to dream about other than a dragon," she murmured so quietly she doubted he'd hear her. But sometimes even she could be surprised.

"Your family?" he murmured.

A shiver fluttered under her skin. She hated that something could force such a hold over her, control her thoughts and actions, and yet it seemed this tragedy was constantly there, affecting everything. Even now, a sharp hiss seethed from her lips, her fingers tightening against her blades. This wasn't her. This wasn't the Aydan Cousland she knew. Never in her life had such anger held reign over her. But the Cousland she knew was gone, murdered just as effectively as the rest of her family.

"Would you tell me about it?" he continued, not understanding how thin a line he walked.

A fisted hand rose and pressed against her lips, her chest aching under the strain of the tears threatening to spill. But she would _not_ cry. She was better than that. She owed her family more than a few paltry tears.

"It might help Aydan," he pressed.

Her shoulders shook under the strain. Her first thought was that there was no possible chance she would speak of that night to anyone, Alistair included. After moments passed in silence, she finally heard him flip back down onto his bedroll, the ruffling of his covers drawing her back around. She had offered the same thing to him just a few nights before, promised him that she would listen, that she would understand. Was it possible that he would as well? He'd certainly lost someone important to him, perhaps he would listen. What she didn't want, was to end like Zathrian, a foul imitation of what once was a great keeper. Just as she didn't want to end a tainted form of what was once the youngest Cousland, someone who once took pride in her name.

His back was to her, his blanket drawn up to his neck. She had no idea if he was actually attempting sleep, but the fact that he was able to gave her strength. Duncan had been like a father to this man, and he slept easily, other than dreams of the archdemon. Of course, had he been present at the battle, things might have been different. There were a few things that gave her the strength to speak of that night; one, that his back was to her, and two, remembering Kallian's story. The woman had shown little qualms when speaking of her sad tale, why should she?

"It was Farkas that woke me," she murmured so softly, her eyes immediately drifting to her slumbering hound next to Sten's side of all people.

She knew Alistair was listening, his shoulders had gone rigid the moment her voice sounded across the camp. And yet he kept his back to her. Tears once again sprang to her eyes. Perhaps this man understood more than she could have ever imagined. . Even Leliana's eyes rose as the youngest Cousland began to regale her tale.

"There was a commotion out in the hall, he was ever alert. If not for him they would have broken down my door and murdered me as easily as they had the rest. I remember," she paused, shifting towards the fire, the scene sharpening before her as she spoke of it. How was this to help? But with a wavering voice, she pressed onwards, trusting the words of the other Warden. "I remember rising from my bed and the feel of the chilled floor beneath my toes. But most of all I remember the sound of shouts from the hall."

She was aware of Alistair turning towards her and rising from his bedroll, his hands clasped peaceably before his waist.

"A guard burst into my room, pleading for help. The castle had been taken, he told me. And just as I reached for him, an arrow split through his neck. I'd never seen the face of true war before, never felt the life of a man spilling over my hands. I rose from his side and fought for my life. I lost control," she whispered. "It wasn't until the floor was littered with bodies that I stopped to look down at my hands, forever stained in blood." The tears she had been struggling in vain to contain spilled over her cheeks. "My mother found me, she was the one to inform me it was Howe's men that were attacking. But all I could think of was the room across the hall from me. It belonged to my brother. Howe knew him to be leaving for Ostagar that night, he _knew_. My father had spoken of it in front of him. But something drew me towards it. And when I opened the door," her voice broke. "I found my sweet nephew, his throat slashed, next to the body of his mother. The rage I felt at that moment is more than I can explain. This was my brother's son, the future Teryn of Highever when it passed to him, cut down callously before his mother."

"Aydan..." Alistair whispered, his fingers brushing against the back of her hand.

"My mother pulled me away from them, talk of my father the only thing that allowed me to move. We passed by each door, bodies of those I had known my entire life, and loved, massacred. Lady Landra and Dairren, Aldous my teacher, Nan our cook and nanny when my brother and I grew up, all dead. My mother believed my father would go for the servant's exit but it was the main hall we went next, the sounds of battle pulling me towards it. And that was where I found Ser Gilmore. He defended our gates, and led my mother and I to my father. The last I saw him, he was gravely injured, perhaps even dead, I couldn't stop to help."

In a moment of faith, their fingers interlaced and Alistair gave a gentle squeeze.

"We found my father in the servant's exit, but we were too late, he'd already been gravely injured. Be grateful you were not there with Duncan when he passed," she whispered fervently. "To feel the life of one you cherish so much slipping away while you struggle to save them, to hear their last staggered breath and know you'd lost, it is something I would not wish upon any. It was then Duncan showed up and conscripted me, promising me safe harbour among the Grey Wardens. He'd claimed that only someone with great talent could survive such an attack. Before he passed, my father agreed, so long as I swore to pay vengeance upon Howe." Her gaze swung around to Alistair's. "He took me then, from my mother, from my father, and led me to the secret exit. We had made it by a breath. And as we ran I was chased by the cavernous sound of my mother dying under the blade of Arl Howe himself. The rest, you know."

If possible, she felt a great weight lift from her shoulders. Sharing her despair with another helped, if only fractionally. But what helped most was the glow of understanding emanating from his eyes. Perhaps she'd never manage a decent sleep again, but in this moment, staring into Alistair's face, she believed in the hope.

"And so Fergus..." Alistair hinted.

"He _was_ my only remaining family. But even he is gone now."

It was Leliana that brushed away her tears and drew her in for a tight embrace. Aydan battled back the urge to shy away from the contact and let them comfort her. Perhaps this was what was needed to ensure Zathrian's fate would not be her own.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

It had been quite a long time since he'd visited Denerim. And while his memories might not have fared well, it looked exactly how he did remember it. As they entered the city, the preaching of the chantry rang over them. Alistair and Aydan shared a similar expression. The verses were as familiar to him as his sword.

At the sight of bountiful colored silks stretched across a cart in the center of the city, Leliana let out a gasp and streaked towards the cart, pulling poor Kallian along the way. The two were inseparable it seemed, having bonded over a little wine found in the Dalish camp.

And if he wasn't mistaken, Alistair was fairly confident he caught the slightest flicker of a smile from Aydan as she watched them. He would have liked for last night to have healed her completely, but even he knew it didn't work like that. Even now, the thought of Duncan made his chest tight, let alone someone who's entire life had crumbled into the Void. But after last night, he could see the progress she had made.

"There's a tavern around the corner," she stated as she pointed towards it. "We can get supplies there, maybe a decent meal, and then head out."

"Please no more of the abysmal Ferelden stew," Morrigan said.

"No stew," she agreed.

They informed the two women where they would be and left towards the Gnawed Noble. Alistair's attention had meandered down the alley where he remembered a shop he had enjoyed as a child, the Wonders of Thedas. While engrained on trying to catch a peek, a sudden cry snapped his attention back towards the tavern to watch Aydan flailing back, her face buried in gravel. So fierce was this woman, so full of anger and ability, that he kept forgetting that she was, in stature, rather petite. And the man that now hovered over her was truly massive.

"I know who you are," his deep voice threatened her. "From Ostagar. Andraste's blood, you're a Grey Warden!"

Alistair rounded Aydan who had climbed back to her feet, one half of her face ground with gravel.

"Duncan's apprentice! You killed my friend - and good King Cailan! I demand satisfaction!"

Slowly, with her eyes still on the knight, Aydan leaned over and spat out a mouthful of gravel. He tried not to focus on the fact that her face looked like grated cheese, but it was a tad difficult.

"I can assure you," she growled. "Loghain's charges against the Grey Wardens are false. We would do no such thing."

"So you would compound slander on top of treason? You **dare** smear Teryn Loghain's word? How far the Grey Wardens have fallen, if this is their last remaining champion."

Alistair knew the moment Ser Landry crossed a line, he felt in the tightening of his shoulders, saw it in the tight jaw of Aydan.

"Apparently a sharp tongue does not mean a keen mind," Aydan hissed. "The Wardens would never help the darkspawn."

"I do not like your tone, ser. But... you **may** be right."

"Hear that Alistair," she abased. "We **may** be right."

"And I may regret this, but I cannot duel someone who may be guiltless. Leave Warden. If I find proof, we'll meet again."

Her laugh was cold as she stalked past him and reached for the tavern door. "Tell you what, I'll worry about that once I save your blighted ass from oblivion."

The two went their separate ways, but Alistair watched after Aydan, his jaw slack. He and Sten shared a single glance before he rushed into the tavern behind her.

"There was a time where you would have simply run him through!" Alistair laughed breathlessly, reminiscing over Loghain's guards in Lothering.

If he ever needed proof that she was healing and rejoining the world, this was it. For certainly, word would reach Loghain now about the Grey Wardens being spotted in Denerim.

She gave an embarrassed shrug, the back of her hand brushing gently across her cheek. "He was too stupid to kill."

"Here, let me look," he offered. His fingers fell upon her jaw as he tilted her face up to the light. "We'll need to clean it, there's a lot of rubble beneath your skin. It could get infected."

"Oh joy," she complained, her tone forced as she made light of it. "Just promise me something, Alistair."

His eyes slid to hers, a curious sensation forming in the pit of his stomach as he did. "Anything."

"No elfroot."

His lips cracked into a genuine smile. "No elfroot."

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks again to everyone reading! I'm glad you guys are liking it! Our little Aydan is starting down a new road! And the next chapter will have some humor to lighten the mood a little. Thanks again!


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_Blessed are they who stand before_  
><em> The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.<em>  
><em> Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.<em>

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

"Here," Leliana smiled as she lowered the drink down in front of Aydan. "This should help with the pain at least."

Aydan leaned forward and sniffed the flacon. Laughter bubbled out of Alistair's lips. She looked utterly fearful of the glass.

"No offense Leliana, but the last time you fed me something, I was sick the entire night."

The entire table laughed, except for Kallian. Leliana leaned over and informed the poor girl of Aydan's intolerance to elfroot. Even Kallian looked surprised. Alistair had never heard of someone with such a reaction to the herb.

"Don't worry," Leliana assured her. "It's just watered-down ale."

Staring around the table, Aydan lifted the mug, her lips hovering tentatively against the rim. "You're sure?"

Even Morrigan laughed. The moment Aydan threw back the drink, the entire table erupted with congratulations. For the past hour at least they had been trying to get her to unwind with a mug of ale to chase down the 'abysmal Ferelden stew' as Morrigan had put it. A celebration every now and then was needed. And after gaining the first third of their army, a celebration was indeed warranted.

"I'll get another round," Leliana offered, rising from her stool and wandering back over to the bartender. At first the bartender had seemed wary with their presence as a whole, but after Aydan and Sten dealt with a rather shady group who called themselves the Crimson Oars, the bartender proclaimed they were forever welcome in his tavern. Apparently this mercenary group had been causing issues for weeks now. No one had been able to stand up against them. But that was another issue dealt with and already forgotten as they sat to enjoy one another's company some place other than a cold campsite. The bartender had even given them two rooms for the night; one for the women and one for the men. It seemed Sten and Alistair were getting the better end of the deal.

The group sat back and continued to chat, asking about one another's homes. Sten regaled them with stories of Seheron, commenting on how he missed the scent of tea and incense and the sea. It was Morrigan who informed him that she could smell the sea from where they currently sat. And with a disapproving look, his eyes swung down to Farkas.

"This sea and the stench of wet dog do not inspire me," he grumbled in his heavily accented voice.

Farkas' head cocked at that, his whine low and sad., muffled once again by laughter. It was Leliana who spoke next, spinning tales of grand hairstyles in Orlais and magnificent shoes that sounded just dreadful to Alistair. Even Aydan winced at her description. Leliana continued on, telling them of the masks they'd wear to identify one's family, similar to the heraldry upon Aydan's shield and sword. And just like that, the conversation spun to her.

"Tell us of Highever," Kallian begged. "Other than the Brecilian Forest, I've never been beyond the Denerim walls."

Leliana, Alistair, and Aydan drifted into a silence. Both Alistair and Leliana knew she wouldn't want to discuss it. But with a watery smile and a slight hiccup, she said, "It's the rolling hills I miss the most and the cliffs overlooking the sea. If the air was clear enough you could see the Vimmark Mountains in the distance draped behind Kirkwall. But," she paused as she rose from her chair and lowered her mug back down onto the table, "Highever is no longer my home."

"Then where is?" Kallian murmured.

Alistair turned back to Aydan, finding her gaze on him. "With Alistair, and the Grey Wardens."

The table fell silent as all eyes turned to him. He couldn't help the furious blush that he felt warming his cheeks. He'd had no idea she felt that way. But when he thought on it, he supposed that was where his home was now too. They were the only two Wardens in Ferelden. That made their home with one another.

"I'll... get the next round," he said, cringing at the loud whoop. He had a feeling a few of them were sloshed. He'd returned to stale water after a few mugs, knowing someone had to remain aware. Seeing his approach, the bartender slid him a new tray with as many drinks as it could hold precariously balanced. He watched the sloshing liquid very carefully as he tentatively walked back.

Aydan tipped back another a second after she and Leliana knocked theirs together in a silent toast.

The conversation continued, this time rounding on Morrigan. Leliana had heard talk of a witch of the wilds and had so many questions. But it wasn't until Aydan let slip that her mother was Flemeth that Leliana truly began in on her, hungry for a new story to tell.

Morrigan regaled a rather interesting story of how she and her mother would trick the templars following them, essentially leading them astray and to their deaths. The entire time her gaze burned through Alistair. He knew where her thoughts had strayed. He remained as silent as possible until finally he just couldn't anymore.

"Maybe you can try that trick on Aydan when she's fully trained as a templar," he snapped.

"Aydan?" Morrigan demanded, her eyes sliding to the woman as she wilted towards the edge of her chair, her eyes quite glazed.

Alistair leaned forward, noting another two mugs drained sitting before her. Four wasn't enough to get drunk, and yet it seemed the woman was the furthest gone at the table.

"Oh dear," Leliana murmured. "I didn't realize-"

Alistair rose suddenly from his chair, his fingers grasping her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. The moment she did, her lips curved into a soft smile.

"What did you do Leliana?" Alistair demanded. He reached for the mug and sniffed it, but all he could scent was the ale. And she certainly hadn't ingested enough to be sliding off her chair as she was now.

He threw her arm over his neck and rose easily. Aydan leaned against his side, her other arm drooping down in front of her.

"I only gave her a little!"

"A little what?" he demanded.

"Deep mushroom. It's a stamina stimulant."

"So?" he snapped.

Morrigan rose from her seat with an irritated sigh. "Foolish woman."

"I didn't mean anything by it!"

"Someone had better start talking," Alistair growled as Aydan slumped forward.

"Deep mushroom expands the arteries and veins in your body and allows for more white blood cells to pump throughout the body. It's used in injury kits to help heal minor wounds. It will help speed up the healing for her cheek."

Alistair's sigh mimicked that of Morrigan's. He bent down and swept Aydan up into his arms. Without their armor, it was much easier. While the deep mushroom might help the healing process, it also allowed the alcohol to spread through her blood much faster than anticipated.

"Alright everyone, funs over. Back to camp. Morrigan you'll take first watch, Kallian you'll take second."

A round of protest rose from Kallian and Leliana. Sten and Morrigan on the other hand were already stalking towards the door.

"What about the rooms the bartender left for us?" Leliana questioned.

"Back to camp," he snapped. "I'm going to check on Aydan and we'll meet you there."

Before either of them could argue, he stalked off with Aydan drooped in his arms, to one of the rooms the bartender had pointed out.

The moment he lowered her down into a cushioned chair, she started to giggle. "Always carrying me everywhere," she slurred. "And to your tent again."

"No," he chuckled softly. "Not my tent this time."

He leaned back on his haunches and stared into her face. Absolute bliss softened her face, those startling eyes hazed over. Smiling, her hand rose, a single finger pointing at him until she poked his nose. Blinking, he scooted back a little more, lest he lose an eye.

"Has... anyone ever told you... how handsome you are," she garbled, the last word fractured with a hiccup.

Regardless of her state, Alistair couldn't help but laugh. He knew it was the alcohol.

"My favorite," she murmured as she leaned precariously forward, "Right here," and she jabbed him again, but this time her finger landed right on his lips. Clearing his throat, his hand slid over hers and lowered it down.

"So... has anyone?" she asked.

"Has anyone what?" he mused.

Her smile grew as she leaned back in the chair, tipping her head back. "Told you... how handsome you are."

Ah, she wanted an answer to that did she? "Not unless they wanted something from me. Well," he corrected. "There were a couple of women once, but they were..." he laughed at the expression on her face, eerily dreamy. "Not like you." He tried not to let it get to his head, he knew it was simply the alcohol muddling her brain. "Why, is this your way of telling me I'm handsome?"

Her soft chuckle slid through his stomach. She seemed utterly at peace, her hands relaxed as they rested against the arms of the chair. "Do you know what I think?"

"No, what?"

"I think you know you're handsome, and are just fishing for a compliment."

His shoulders shook with laughter. "I'm not fishing for anything woman, you're the one that brought it up."

"You keep talking about it," she mused incoherently.

"Because you won't let it drop," he countered, watching as her brow narrowed in concentration.

"Won't let what drop?"

He couldn't help it, he laughed again. "Nothing. You seem fine, we should get you back to camp?"

Her lower lip poked out suddenly, a sad look crossing her features. "But it's so nice here."

"Yes, it is, but everyone will be waiting for us."

His fingers intertwined with hers as he helped her to her feet, laughing when she stumbled awkwardly into him, her hip jutting against his. By the time they reached the door, at least five minutes had passed. And small she might be, there was no way he was carrying her the entire way back to camp.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, two beds. Either he helped her stumble back to camp, in which neither of them would sleep, or they remained here and met with the party in the morning when Aydan was at least sober.

Sighing, he altered his course, smiling as he listened to her happy banter about a real bed. He lowered her down, her dark hair fanning out over the pillow, her fingers curling into the thick blankets. When he rose to walk over to the other bed, she heard him call his name.

Glancing over, he saw a shy smile shining out from under the blankets.

The simple words that left her mouth next shocked him into silence. It seemed all he could do was stare, listening to her heavy breathing the moment she passed out.

_"I like you,"_ she had said.

Funny how such a plain comment could set his blood aflame.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

A soft murmur broke through the bright flashes of a dragon pervading her formerly pleasant dreams. The soft cushioned mattress conforming to her body was unexpected. At a louder shout, her eyes flashed open as she bolted up in the bed. Across the room in a separate bed, thank the Maker, a heavy figure shrouded in the folds of a blanket thrashed about.

Vision hazed and blurry, Aydan kicked back the mussed tangled fabric and stumbled across the cramped room.

"Alistair," she grumbled the moment she laid eyes on his sun kissed hair. She caught a quick twitch of his jaw as his head flinched away from her. After rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she bent down, hovering over him and reached for his shoulder. With a quick shake, she murmured his name again. She knew the moment he woke, his eyes flashing open in the brume of morning light.

"Aydan?" he asked with a slight quaver to his voice.

"You're welcome."

Frowning down on the man, she struggled to recall the night before, but all she was getting was flashes of laughter and the taste of ale on the back of her tongue.

"Where's everyone else?" she asked in a gravelly voice as she headed towards the water basin.

"I sent them back to camp after Leliana doused you with deep mushroom."

"Deep mushroom?" she repeated as she turned to him

The poor man was perched between his legs, taking deep even breaths. "She put some in your drink to help stimulate your stamina, help with your cheek." His chin rose, those eyes sliding over her wound. Immediately her hand rose and brushed against the scabs already forming.

"Well it worked," she mused.

He chuckled softly. "I suppose that's something."

"If everyone is back at camp..." she lingered for a moment before finishing the sentence, "Then why are we here?"

"I couldn't get you to walk," he stated as he rose from his bed, stretching out his legs. "It was easier for us just to stay here and head back to camp this morning to meet them."

There was a flash of another memory, the form of the chair taking shape in her memory. Her eyes trailed his face, noting the blush that colored his lips the moment she did. Something drew her eye, the tiny indent above his lips. For some reason she felt a faded memory creeping up on her, the feel of his lips beneath her finger. Horrified, she turned away the moment her own blush colored her cheeks.

"We should probably get on with that then. If we leave today, I think we'll reach Kinloch Hold by the end of the week."

"After that, the dwarves of Orzammar."

She nodded. "Not much longer now."

-O-O-O-

She couldn't believe the amount of blood seeping into the soil. Strewn behind barrels, alongside the cart, and buried in the brush, lay a group of what she could only assume were mercenaries. The mage had been the first to go; her magic had been the most dangerous. The elf, the one that leapt around her in circles searching for a weakness had been the next to go. She'd never fought anyone like him before. His blades had landed against her armor more than once, but it had only taken one hit on her account to render him useless. She'd smashed his head in with her shield once and he fell. After that, they seemed to fall in waves.

Aydan hovered over him, gazing down on his pale, inked face, noting how similar he and Kallian looked; both with their light hair and sinewy statures. Yet, where her eyes were a silvery grey, his were a deep brown.

She dealt him a sharp bow with the toe of her boot, backing away when he jerked upright, his hands immediately cupping the flow of blood pouring from his nose. His groan seeped through his fingers.

"Mmm, I rather thought I'd wake up dead, or not wake up at all if the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet.

"Quiet," she grumbled, staring down on the elf, not entirely sure what to make of the situation.

"You are one aggressive little minx, aren't you? Lovely, too."

At first, she'd debated delivering another blow to his face, in hopes of knocking a little more sense into him. But instead, it seemed Alistair had another plan. He approached the elf, his blade suddenly hovering in the hollow of his throat.

"Oh, a double team, how exciting," his heavily accented voice joked.

With Alistair's blade firmly held, she lowered down to the elf's level. "I'd stop with the jokes if you want to see another sunrise."

"Ah, so the threats begin," he teased raucously. "But let me save you the trouble. My name is Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly. "

She shared a glance with Alistair, but at his shrug, she asked, "What are the Antivan Crows?"

"Truly?" he demanded, a little of the humor wiped from his face.

"I can tell you that," Leliana spoke up from the back, sliding past Kallian to approach the front. "They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man."

"And quite right! I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous."

"Oh do shut up," Aydan ordered him again, flicking another glance up at Alistair.

"Gee," he said. "I wonder who we know who is hunting all Grey Wardens."

"If you mean Loghain-"

"Of course I mean Loghain," Alistair informed her. "There's no one else I can think of despicable enough to do such a thing."

"I'm afraid your friend here is rather correct," Zevran stated,

Aydan rose, shaking out a cramp forming in her leg. "Let's deal with him then and be on our way. The sooner we finish our business, the sooner we can deal with Loghain."

The moment she lifted her blade, the elf lifted his hands in surrender. "Wait. I have an offer for you," his words rushed over one another.

"You?" she mocked. "Have an offer for me? The way I see it, you're on the dangerous end of the pointy weapon."

"Hear me out," he begged.

"Do I really have an option?"

His chuckle made her skin pucker, and not in a good way. "I tried to kill you, my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will."

"Then I might as well do it now, save them the trouble."

"Well, see the thing is," he said. "I like living. And you are obviously the sort to give the Crows pause."

With a groan, she turned, watching Alistair's face to monitor the elf's movements. "You have to be kidding me."

"Why not?" he asked. "Let me serve you instead. It is a win, win situation either way."

"Yes, for you," she countered, turning back to face him. "Me, I get stuck with a whiney elf and spend the rest of my nights looking over my shoulder."

"I happen to be a very loyal person," he exclaimed. "Up until the point where someone expects me to die for my failings."

"This is not happening," she spoke loudly. "I will _not_ take an assassin into my camp."

"You focus too much on titles dear lady," he commented. "Think how valuable I could be to you. I could offer you warning before the Crows attack again, and believe me, they will. And you safeguard me from whatever attacks they send after me."

"You say the Crows will attack again and I'm simply supposed to believe that you won't be the one to slide the knife in my back?"

"I could slide something else in elsewhere," he chuckled until Alistair's point dug further into his neck. "Though, I see now, that would be a very unwise thing to say, with your hunk of a man ready to slit my throat."

Aydan ignored the jibe and turned to Alistair. "Do you have anything to say on this?"

She hadn't noticed how tense he'd become, his shoulders absolutely rigid as he struggled not to run the elf through. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes frighteningly bright. "Absolutely not. We are not accepting help from an assassin. Desperate we might be, but we certainly aren't that desperate."

"My thoughts as well. You heard him," she said, signalling for him to rise. "Now get out of here before I do decide to kill you."

"What?" Alistair hissed quietly under his breath.

She turned to him with a shrug. "If you want to kill him, go for it. But he's dead either way if these Crows want him."

"You are letting me go?" Zevran questioned, flicking a glance back over his shoulder.

Without answering, she turned to her group and directed them back towards the road. "We have more important things to do with our time than play games with an assassin."

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry Zevran fans! But from the beginning I'd decided that if I was keeping Kallian, then Zevran would not be added into the party. Please don't hate me too much!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

_Many are those who wander in sin, _  
><em>Despairing that they are lost forever, <em>  
><em>But the one who repents, who has faith <em>  
><em>Unshaken by the darkness of the world,<em>  
><em>And boasts not, nor gloats<em>  
><em>Over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight<em>  
><em>In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know<em>  
><em>The peace of the Maker's benediction.<em>  
><em>The Light shall lead her safely<em>  
><em>Through the paths of this world, and into the next. <em>  
><em>For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.<em>  
><em>As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,<em>  
><em>She should see fire and go towards Light. <em>  
><em>The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,<em>  
><em>And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker<em>  
><em>Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword<em>.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

She'd never felt as ravenous as she did at this moment. It mattered not that it was Alistair's concoction of Ferelden stew, laced with cheese, yet again for what had to be the third night in a row. While others sat around the fire poking nauseatedly at the dish, she and Alistair were bent over their bowls, devouring every last drop. She felt as though she hadn't eaten in weeks, rather than the six hours it had been.

It wasn't until Kallian's low giggle disturbed their eating that either Alistair or Aydan glanced up.

"Oh I'm sorry," she teased. "Did I disturb you pigs over there?"

Aydan's gaze danced around the fire as she used the back of her hand to wipe away the remnants she felt dripping down her chin.

"What?" she asked around a mouthful of food.

Leliana and Kallian dropped their heads in a shared giggle. Even Morrigan looked disgusted, somewho who had on more than one occasion partaken in raw rabbit. Sten on the other hand sat before his bowl with his hands clasped firmly in his lap.

"Don't let us disturb you," she continued. "In fact you can have mine. We wouldn't want the Grey Wardens to starve now would we?"

The two girls lowered their bowls and rose from the fire, walking off towards the stream they could all hear trickling in the distance. With their exit, Morrigan sighed and shifted into a wolf before tearing off into the brush. Even her bowl remained untouched. Sten, after glancing up once towards the Wardens, gave a heavy nod before retiring to his tent. It was only Farkas that remained, his chin resting on his paws, staring defeatedly at the mabari crunch on his plate.

"Did we do something wrong?" Aydan mused, stirring her bowl while they spoke.

Alistair's shrug was light as he rose. "No need to let good food go to waste," he commented as he passed her Kallian's bowl and took Leliana's.

Good might have been overstating matters. It was gruel, plain and simple, but after a long day of travel, her stomach hadn't cared what she ate, so long as it was warm. Good food, now that reminded her of the meals Nan used to make. Roast with potatoes and buns. And enough ale to drown even her brother, though she'd rarely partaken in that. The night before had been one of the few times and even then that could be attributed mostly to Leliana than herself. But she had to admit, once again the woman hadn't let her down. Her cheek was still rather sore and as rough as Farkas' paws, but by tomorrow morning she doubted there'd be even a hint of that little scuffle.

Reminiscing over Cousland Castle's meals drew her attention back down to the dish in her lap. One could barely describe it as edible. Sadly, Alistair was not a chef extroidinaire. Yet the way she attacked it was strange. Even after hours of sparring with Gilmore on the grounds, she'd never once felt this hungry. And as she thought on it, her stomach gave another fevered growl.

Kallian's comment slithered back through her mind. '_We wouldn't want the Grey Wardens to starve'_. After placing her bowl back down on the ground, she turned to Alistair who continued to inhale the stew.

"What changes after you become a Grey Warden?" she asked.

With his spoon dangling from his lips, he turned to her, his eyes wide as though he hadn't expected such a question.

"I'm not sure I userstand," he mumbled around the metal utensil.

Her lips broke into a grin at the sight of him. Even she could admit there was something adorable about the way he sat in the hue of the firelight, a spoon precariously dangling from his lips as though he desired nothing more than to continue eating, watching her so closely.

"Physically. What changed about you after the joining?"

"Mmm," he hummed as he swallowed. "I asked Duncan that once and all I got was a 'you'll see'."

"You wouldn't," she growled playfully, casually scooping up a spoonful of her own stew.

"Maybe," he grinned, unaware of how she held her smaller, and unexpected new weapon.

"It seems only fair to warn you that I'm a cheat when it comes to games," she responded neutrally.

"What are you going to do?" he laughed. "Give me a wedgie in front of the class."

Tempting while that might had been, fishing in armor for undergarments was not as easy as it sounded.

"You have your warning," she stated. "Now answer the question, what changed about you?"

His gaze weighed her and he slowly removed the spoon from his lips, obviously wondering just what she had planned. Her own spoon felt heavy in her hands, just waiting for the right moment.

"You've got nothing," he finally rebuked, turning to dive back into his stew. But the moment he did, a wet splatter struck him against his cheek.

It seemed as though even the fire flickered in surprise. A soft woof eased out from Farkas as his head rose to watch them.

Her laugh echoed around the camp, her fingers covering her mouth as she chuckled into them.

"You did not just..." he trailed off, his had swiping against his cheek, wiping away the dark remnants of the stew she'd just flung at him.

Before she could even jump to her feet, she was assaulted by something equally wet, dripping with hunks of cheese. Of course Alistair's dish would contain obscene amounts compared to everyone else's.

With a shriek she stumbled away from the camp, scooping more stew out of her bowl and firing at him as quick as possible. From the splats against her body, she knew she'd have to wash her linens but as she weaved around the tents, ducking his advances only to attack him herself, she found she didn't care.

She snuck around Sten's tent, about to fire another round when his tent flaps fluttered open. She was just about to offer him a warning when a thick hunk of stew smacked right into his face. Aydan jumped back, gasping dramatically. The one thing she had learned of Sten was he did _not_ play games. He was a warrior through and through. And while she liked to think the same of herself, fun was appropriate at specific times.

Even Alistair staggered to a stop, his face beat red as it was his stew that trailed the length of the qunari's face.

"We're sorry," Alistair offered, his gaze burning through Aydan as he watched her.

"Yes Sten," she complied. "So sorry."

"You are supposed to be Grey Wardens," he growled.

Aydan ducked her head, committed to taking the scolding. He retreated to the safe confines of his tent, leaving the two of them alone in the dark, stained beyond the point of repair.

Chuckling to the point of an aching sternum, Aydan slowly approached Alistair, holding up her hands peaceably, the bowl teetering from her fingers. "Truce?"

His eyes narrowed as he watched her, but eventually he nodded. Together they returned to the fire. A mischievous grin twisted her lips the moment he lowered his bowl. Subtly, she scooped a large handful of the remaining stew and as he bent to seat himself back down on the log, she slapped it down on the top of his head, smearing it in his hair.

Alistair held frightfully still. And for a moment she wondered if she had overstepped herself. He did, after all, have a bit of a fascination with his own hair. But a second later he jumped up from the log, his face radiating disbelief.

"You called truce!" he cried out.

With a gentle shrug, she backed away, placing distance between the two of them.

"You little sneak!" he shouted a moment before rushing towards her.

With a squeal, Aydan dashed backwards through the trees, hoping to lose him in the brush. It was easier for her to tuck around the extended branches than it was for him. It only took a few moments before she heard his gentle cursing as she gained distance.

She paused near a willow tree, next to the stream, listening for his movements but there was nothing.

"Alistair?" she called tentatively, a worm of concern wiggling through her stomach. No snapping of branches, no curses, no shuffling, nothing but the sound of her breathing as she hid in the shadows of the tree.

Something large wrapped around her knees and before she even had a chance to steal a look, she was falling. The laughter told her it was Alistair, but before she could retaliate, a huge glob of stew smeared across her face. It didn't taste so great this time around.

"Alright, alright," she heard him whisper. "Seriously, truce. We need to get cleaned up."

"You just want a truce because I'm winning," she challenged, staring up at him from the chilled ground. How odd that she felt no desire to squirm away from him.

"_You're_ winning? Who's the one with stew running down their face."

Her hand rose before she even thought of it, her fingers swiping away the trailing rivulets of stew dripping down his jaw. "You."

"Well I hate to break it to you, but so do you," he joked as he wiped off a bit of her own and showing it to her in the dark.

A silence lulled over them and Aydan found her eyes constantly meeting his. Finally, with a nervous laugh, she pushed him away and rose from the ground, brushing the back of her linens off, although from the obscene amounts of stew staining her clothing, she knew it would never come clean.

"Come on," he commented with a jerk of his head. "Let's go clean up."

Nodding, Aydan followed after him towards the stream, hiding her laughter as her eyes watched stew trickle from his hair down his neck and under his own clothes.

-O-O-O-

"Concentrate Aydan," Alistair sighed for what had to be the tenth time.

"I am," she enunciated through grit teeth.

"If you're growling at me, you're not concentrating, now come on."

She hadn't felt so frustrated in years, since her brother had started training her with a bow. The bow had never been her forte, she was meant for up close battle, the shove your blade through your enemy's heart type of combat.

"You're drifting," he informed her. "You need to lock away all your thoughts. Just turn them off."

With her own fractured sigh, her shoulders drooped and her eyes flashed open to stare up at the man pacing the length of the bank before her. They'd opted to allow their companions a little of a lie-in in order to begin her templar training. And so far, it was not going well. Gone were the shared humorous memories from the night before, yet as she gazed on him, she could still feel the searing heat of his finger brushing against her cheek.

"Do you know how hard that is?" she snapped.

"Of course I do, I _am_ a templar," he laughed.

"You're only trained as one," she reminded him.

His hand slapped over his chest, his face crumpling with mock pain. "You wound me. But insulting me won't help your concentration." He dropped down before her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Listen to my voice, focus only on that."

She found her eyes drifting down to his mouth, her gaze landing on that tiny little imperfection about his upper lip once more.

"Let my voice be the only thing you hear."

Funny how all sound other than his voice drifted immediately away. No longer could she hear the stream trickling behind her, or the rustling of the leaves in the forest, or even the less than gentle snores of Sten from their camp.

"Center yourself, feel your energy rising from the depths of your being and contain it within."

She pictured her inner energy similar to that of a string, something she could physically draw upwards.

"When you feel you've drawn enough energy in, I want you to take a slow, steady breath."

Aydan wasn't entirely sure if she'd done what he'd asked, but when she felt a vibration in her bones, she did as he asked and sucked in a breath.

"Now, I want you to release that energy, but imagine striking me with it as hard as you can."

For a moment she felt her concentration slip as she tried to imagine how to accomplish this. Not only was she lost as to how to draw energy in, but striking out with it seemed equally as impossible.

His hands slipped from her shoulders but with her eyes still held shut she had no idea where he'd gone. Concentrating on the supposedly increasing energy, she took another steadying breath and centered herself. On her exhale, she imagined the opening of a gate and a flood of energy pouring out of her.

Her eyes snapped open to find Alistair seated before her, his eyes on her as he waited for the blow that hadn't come.

She dropped her head forward into her hands, breathing deeply into her palms.

"It's alright Aydan," he consoled her. "It takes time. No one gets it first try. We'll keep working on this. In the meantime, practice drawing in as much energy as you can."

"I can't even do that," she mumbled into her hands.

She felt his fingers press against her cheek until she glanced up.

"You can," he told her. "You just have to figure it out for yourself."

"Myself?" she sniped. "You're supposed to be training me. How can I figure it out myself?"

His smile was a little condescending. "No, I'll help you learn the talents, but you have to discover how to accomplish them yourself. Here take my hand."

She eyes flicked down to his outstretched hand. After a few moments of an awkward silence, she slid hers within, their fingers intertwining.

"Now, pay attention. I'm going to do everything I've been trying to teach you. Feel my body as I do it."

The two were seated across from one another, both leaning on their haunches. She could only imagine how amusing it would look to a passerby.

"Here, Aydan," he told her, drawing her attention back to him. "You have to concentrate as well to feel it as I do."

Nodding, she straightened and brushed her hair from her face with her free hand. She watched as his eyes fluttered shut and he took a deep breath. His body seemed to go rigid but she knew it was due to his level of concentration. She also knew he could do this much faster, but he was drawing it out for her to feel it. Gradually, she began to sense a change in him. His fingers grew heated against hers and his entire body seemed to be shimmering with energy.

The next thing she knew she was flat on her back, staring up at the clouds, watching as they trailed through the sky.

"Aydan?" he asked, his shape now blocking the sun as he stared down on her. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. She'd never been on the receiving end of a Holy Smite. She felt… strange. As though he was actually floating above her. His face wavered above her, his eyes strangely bright as she watched.

"Aydan?" he repeated.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, extending a hand for him to help her up. "How did you do that?"

"Practice and concentration," he responded.

A deep huff drew her attention to a four legged beast standing within the brush watching them. The yellow eyes were glowing with humor.

"No need to hide," she told Morrigan. "We're done here?"

He gave a short nod before rising to his feet.

She was back in her leathers today, due to her linens new condition. In the humidity they were a bit much, but going without was unquestionable. Armor on naught but skin was simply asking for trouble.

"If everyone is awake, then pack camp," she ordered. "We should get on the road immediately."

* * *

><p>AN Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed, subscribed, everything last chapter :) Little disclaimer of course to say that I do not own any of the characters, plot, environments, blah blah blah. Read on!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

_The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil_  
><em>And grew jealous of the life<em>  
><em>They could not feel, could not touch.<em>  
><em>In blackest envy were the demons born.<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

An eerie silence had fallen over Lake Calenhad as swiftly as the fog settled. In the early morning hours, not a soul was awake other than Aydan. Settled in the backdrop, nestled in the hills, was a tavern, famously known as the Spoiled Princess. Her father had told her of it once and made her promise, should she ever find herself straying in that path, to rest and taste their ale. It was quite nutty he told her, with a sweet aftertaste that men would die for. It was because of that memory that she ignored its existence and instead perched before the shore of the lake, watching as the gentle waves lapped against the beach. Looming in the distance was Kinloch Hold, its highest peaks rising from the heavy fog. Hundreds of mages, if not more, were housed within. Yet still, she felt alone, the soft chirps of the birds the only music to her ears. Tension slowly began to roll off her shoulders, her fingers unclenched in her lap, and she allowed for her eyes to drift closed. Using only the waves to guide her, she settled back on her haunches. A slow breath escaped her pursed lips and she inhaled another, centering herself. There were no thoughts, no memories, and no fear. There was only the water. Imagining her energy this time as a mist, she sucked it in with another breath and spindled it in her chest before letting out the air. She repeated this process until her heart felt as though it would burst from the pressure.

Alistair had asked her to practice concentrating and storing the energy, but now that she had it, the question remained what to do with it.

"Aydan?" a voice suddenly broke through her carefully achieved serenity. A slight gasp slipped past her partially parted lips and just as quickly, the energy broke past her gates and flooded out. She felt it leak from every orifice in a massive wave of energy.

A slight cry pierced the silence. Aydan spun on her knees to find herself staring down at a hysterical elf, laughing into her hands.

"By the Gods!" she laughed. "What was that?"

"That," a deeper voice explained, "was a successful Smite."

Alistair swept down to the elf and helped her to her feet.

"You can practice that on me anytime!" she chuckled as she swayed backwards. "That was fun."

A crease formed in Aydan's brow as she watched the young girl. Had she addled her brains somehow?

"I think for your health and safety, the less Smiting the better. The more Aydan practices, the sooner it'll turn damaging."

"I'm going... Uh..." the elf trailed away, her gait crooked and slanted a she progressed back towards the camp.

"Congratulations," he told her.

After three days of practice and achieving nothing, she'd begun to think it an impossible task for herself. Every night after dinner she'd try to turn her thoughts off and focus on concetrating. But there always seemed something to distract her; Morrigan and Alistair's bickering, Leliana's constant story telling, Kallian's endless chatter, or Farkas' howling the moment anything moved in the woods. Sten was the only silent partner among her companions and when the group started up with their continuous noise, he and Aydan would share a look before he decided to retire to his tent for the night.

But this morning, she'd awoken before all others and the peacefulness of Lake Calenhad had simply called to her. If ever a moment to try, she knew this was it.

She turned a pleased glance up to Alistair, his own grin stroking the threads of accomplishment growing within.

"Were you watching?" she questioned.

His shrug was undefinable. "Maybe a little. I was coming to tell you everyone was ready to head for the tower, but you seemed so focused I decided to wait."

"Why didn't you stop Kallian then?"

"Curiosity," he laughed. "I wondered if you'd succeeded and she was the perfect target."

"That's horrible," she scolded gently. "She could have been hurt."

"Sometimes a guinea pig is needed."

But as the two turned to find Kallian regaling her tale to the only two that would listen - Leliana and Farkas - neither of them felt badly. She obviously wasn't injured and that was all that mattered.

"If you're ready, so are we. Kesler informed me that a templar has been assigned to the docks. If we are to ask for a ride, it must be from him."

"A templar," Aydan mused. "I wonder why they'd have a templar doing a boatman's job."

"I wondered the same thing. I couldn't recall there being any lessons on boat ferrying when in the Chantry, but hey, who am I to question the Chantry's whims."

Aydan's chuckle was light as she led Alistair back towards camp. As he'd said, everyone was packed and ready. All that remained was securing a ferry ride across.

-O-O-O-

The trepidation they all felt seemed to reach its peak the moment they stepped within the arched entrance. Morrigan had grown increasingly quiet since setting upon this adventure after vocally expressing her dislike of stepping foot within the infernal tower. There'd been a brief moment where Aydan had honestly debated leaving her at camp if it meant no longer listening to her invalid complaints. No one was here to lock her away and if they tried, Aydan promised her they would have to deal with her first. Sten on the other hand seemed almost anxious for something to do, other than guard the camp. As for the others, they'd shared awkward glances throughout the ferry ride, each slightly concerned about this supposed developing situation Carrol refused to speak of.

But nothing could have prepared them. They stepped within the entrance and were immediately assaulted by the wails of the injured. Having never visited the tower, Aydan wasn't sure if this was a bad sign. But it certainly didn't seem good. In the center of the room stood a heavily armored man who was barking out orders to any still capable of obeying. She immediately directed towards him, gasping when something rough gripped her hand and jerked her down.

"My wounds!"

Her lips parted in horror. She would have liked to call the ball of meat at her feet a man but she found nothing reminiscent of one beneath the oozing burns and blisters.

A frightened whimper slipped from her lips. The flesh wrapped around her hand was brittle and crisp. Her heart - and other putrid fluids - leapt to her throat the moment she tried to pull back and felt the skin slide with her.

Alistair was immediately there, his fingers prying at the charred fingers, gently extricating her from the shockingly vice-like grip.

The moment he successfully managed to free her with little damage to the man, Aydan jerked back, fighting against the waves of disgust heaving in her chest.

"Who are you?" a booming voice demanded.

Swallowing, Aydan turned to find the heavily armored man perched over her like a bird of prey.

Her gaze shot down to her reddened wrist, her stomach convulsing once again at the sight of flakes of skin stuck against her.

"We are Grey Wardens," she spoke in a sickened breathy voice. "We've come to request aid from the mages of Kinloch Hold against the Blight."

She didn't approve of his response. His eyes narrowed on her, his gaze sweeping down his nose as though he found little use for her.

"I grow weary of the Grey Warden's constant demand for men."

The entire party fell silent behind her but she felt them like a wall at her back.

"Well," she stated in a stronger voice. "Perhaps when the Blight destroys everything you love you'll feel a little more accommodating."

"The Blight?" he laughed. "Look around. Do you think we truly have anything left for the Blight to take from us?"

"Yes," Alistair commented. "You do seem to be having some issues of your own. You and the rest of Ferelden."

"The rest of Ferelden is not my concern," he declared. "Mine is that of this tower and it is gone. There are no more mages left to even help save Ferelden."

Aydan's gaze snapped to Alistair, the same look of concern mirrored in his face.

"What do you mean?"

His sigh was a touch longer than natural as he turned and approached a largely barred door. "The worst has come to happen. Abominations run rampant within the tower, destroying everything they touch."

"Abominations?" Aydan repeated.

"Mages possessed by demons," it was Alistair who informed her of this.

"I thought templars were put in place to ensure that didn't happen."

"My men did what they could," he snapped. "But it wasn't enough. Took us by surprise. We were prepared for one, two abominations, not the horde that fell upon us."

"So this is your plan?" Aydan questioned as she paced the length of the entrance. Once more her eyes landed on the barred door. What was behind there, she wondered. Was that where the abominations could be found? "To simply stand here and, what? Hope that the abominations simply kill each other?"

"I would destroy the tower, raze it to the ground, but I cannot risk more of my men. The doors remain shut and they will protect us for now."

Aydan cast a dark glance back over her shoulder. "You shut everyone in there? Including the mages?"

"Not just mages, but my templars also. I had no choice. The abominations must be contained at all cost. We do not mean for the doors to stay closed forever. Everything in the tower must be eliminated. I have sent word to Denerim, calling for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment."

It was the wince she caught from Alistair that told her the Right of Annulment was certainly not a pleasant thing. One look was all it took for Alistair to speak up.

"The Right of Annulment gives templars the authority to neutralize the mage circle, completely. The mages are probably all dead. Any abominations remaining in there must be dealt with, Aydan, no matter what."

"This situation is dire, there is no alternative. Everything in the Tower must be destroyed so it can be made safe again." Greagoir's words were sharp and heated. Aydan felt the strength of his avowal, Alistair's as well. Clearly these abominations were horrors beyond reckoning. But slaughtering _everything_ within the Tower? What if there were mages within there? Were they to be destroyed as well?

"But the mages are not defenseless," she hoped to counter. "Some must still live."

"If any are still alive, the Maker himself has shielded them. No one could have survived those monstrous creatures. It is too painful to hope for survivors and find… nothing."

"If _nothing_ remains," she growled. "It is because you shut them in. How many are just beyond that door praying for safety? If you're too frightened, I'll look for survivors."

"I assure you. An abomination is a force to be reckoned with. And you will face more than one."

A thread of confidence swelled within her. Many in the past had questioned her abilities and yet here she stood; a Grey Warden.

"And I assure you, abominations cannot stand against me."

"Ayden," Leliana whispered next to her ear. "Perhaps we should think about this? I, myself, have never faced an abomination. I never really hoped to either."

She turned, staring up at her, tiny little worry lines forming in the crease of her eyes. "I can honestly say it is not something I ever thought to fight. But we cannot simply leave those mages locked within."

"No, that seems wrong. If any live." she agreed. "They must be freed."

They shared a small smile before she returned to Greagoir.

"If you succeed, I would owe you much. Enough, in fact, to pledge any remaining templars to your cause. Without word from Denerim I must determine our course. Surely destroying darkspawn is a worthy goal."

"Agreed," she said with a small nod.

"A word of caution. Once you cross that threshold, there is no turning back. The great doors must remain barred. I will open them for no one until I have proof that it is safe. I will only believe it is over if the First Enchanter stands before me and tells me it is so. If Irving has fallen then the circle is lost and must be destroyed. May Andraste lend you her courage, whatever you decide."

It wasn't hard to catch the veiled threat mingling with his words. If they couldn't find this First Enchanter, it sounded as though Greagoir wouldn't even open the doors if she herself returned.

The moment he marched off, Aydan turned to her companions surrounding her. Could she ask this of them? To sacrifice their lives on the off chance that something might remain within the Tower? Morrigan, Leliana, Kallian, Sten, Farkas, and of course, Alistair. Their faces spun through her mind. Each knew the risks of traveling with her and had accepted the challenge. But to give up their lives so readily seemed cold hearted.

"I will demand this from none of you," she said. "I _will_ enter the Tower and seek out any surviving mages, but I do not expect the same from any of you. If you have doubts, return to camp and Maker willing, I'll return to you in one piece. But Morrigan, you _are_ returning to camp and that is an order."

"What?" the witch hissed, immediately brushing past Leliana and Kallian to confront Aydan.

"I can't risk you in there. If abominations can possess mages, you are a threat."

"If you think I would let one of those-"

"I certainly don't think that," Aydan reassured her. "I'm worried for your safety. If these abominations managed to destroy every mage within the Tower, how will you fare?"

"A slight better than you I'd imagine," she snapped.

"Go," Aydan ordered her, jutting her jaw towards the door.

"Am I to be sent away alone?" she asked, her hands sliding down her hips as she stared down on Aydan.

"Weren't you the one bickering the entire way about being forced into the Tower?" Alistair demanded, his voice dripped with scorn. "Or is it you simply must always have something to complain about?"

The witch's jaw rose as she raced him, the hardened glare to her eyes merely a caution to any within hearing range. But before the two could start again on one of their endless battles, Aydan held up a hand for silence.

Her eyes rose to the other companions. "We require supplies. I will do so. Discuss amongst yourselves what you wish to do. Those that want to accompany me, join me at the quartermaster. Those that do not may return to camp with Morrigan."

As she began towards the quartermaster, she felt the erratic thumping of her heart bursting against the walls of her chest. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined this playing out in her life. And, Maker, she was praying that some went with her. The thought of crossing those giant steeled doors by herself, the eternal clicking of the lock in place seemed to echo through her thoughts.

She'd barely made it three steps when a shadow cast over her. She knew from the creak of his armor that it was Alistair. A ray of hope sliced through her otherwise dim future and with a smile she glanced up at him.

"Like I'd let you take on the entire Tower on your own."

"Nor I," Leliana chirped up on her other side, followed by a murmured response from Kallian. It was Sten that reached down and took her pack from her, slinging it up over the massive expanse of his back. Even Farkas trotted after her, his stubby little tail wagging happily.

"So I am to be exiled alone then," Morrigan complained.

"Just the way you prefer it, fitting isn't it?" Alistair poked.

They reached the quartermaster and while he poked through the supplies, Aydan lowered down to Farkas, her hand falling heavily on the top of his head.

"I want you to go with Morrigan," she told him.

His low whine weighed heavily on her heart. "This is no place for a mabari."

"This is no place for anyone," Alistair rebuked.

He leaned against her, his muddy brown eyes boring through hers. But with a soft and hushed woof, her faithful hound turned and followed after Morrigan.

Aydan rose slowly, reminding Alistair that they required health poultices and potions. Having successfully picked over the quartermaster, they all turned collectively towards the door and with a final sigh, approached.

The moment the doors slid shut behind them, a shiver screamed down her spine. She'd been right, the click of the locks had to be one of the worst sounds she'd ever heard.

* * *

><p>AN: Yet again thanks to all the readers, reviewers, subscribers, etc.! We get to have some fun in the fade now! Woo! And soon, we shall meet the Amell of the story!


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._  
><em>In their blood the Maker's will is written<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

Silence. It stretched across them and absorbed them into the evil that plagued the hallways. Aydan forced herself to swallow back the bile that once more rose to her throat. Under the flesh, blood, and bone, she was sure lay a floor. The lumps before her gradually began to take shape; a face of a young woman barely out of her adolescence, a templar still clutching tightly to his sword even in death, a mage whose once bright robes were now blanketed in blood, and so many others. Her eyes closed against the flicker of a memory. The only thing missing was the fiery blaze and this would be Cousland Castle.

A resonant ringing rose in her ears, the sort that only accompanied a macabre reticence. She was the first to brave a step, her toe pressing down on the only bare spot she could find.

"Maker," one of her companions whispered behind her. She was too frightened to look away to see who it might have been.

She managed a few more steps before her gaze froze on the sight stretched out before her. With a quivering lower lip, she approached, unable to keep her distance. Before her lay a child, no more than ten, his hair as dark as night, his, what she would have imagined to be, bright eyes hazed over in death. But it was the sight of his slashed neck that brought her to her knees. Her fingers grazed against the back of his chilled hand.

"Aydan?" Alistair murmured so gently as he crouched next to her.

He looked so much like Oren, in life and death.

"He was just a child," she mumbled, unsure of which she was referring to entirely.

"I know," Alistair said as his fingers cupped under elbow, drawing her back to her feet. "We need to keep going. Now isn't the time to fall apart."

It was difficult to tear her eyes away from the hallway, even as Alistair guided her. _Fall apart_, he'd said. The moment those words sank in, she drew herself up in her armor and straightened, her fingers clutching her family blade. She would do no such thing. Weeping over the deaths of the innocent would not bring sanctuary once more to the tower. She shifted away from Alistair, his fingers brushing against her elbow as she withdrew it from his grasp. She was a Grey Warden, a soldier, and she would complete the mission if it meant scouring every room in the ruins for every last abomination.

They crossed through another door only to find a group of huddling mages, pressed against the wall as another battled the likes of a creature Aydan had never laid eyes upon. It was as though it bodied the essence of fire itself, light emanating from its eyes. It crossed the floor in a swaying motion, bearing down on the mage who readied herself. Aydan rushed forward, with the intention to help, when a wave of energy swept over the room. Never had she felt anything like it before. Her skin puckered under the force, her bones aching from the strength. Just as she took notice of it, it drew away from her, and was directed towards the creature. Ice swirled just above the floor, the thick wall climbing high over the creatures head. This, Aydan was familiar with. She knew exactly how it felt to be entrapped within a tomb of ice, unable to move or cry for help. Only this creature instantly fell.

"**What** was that?" Aydan demanded. Zathrian had used that exact spell on her in the Brecilian ruins, but she hadn't felt even a whisper then what she had now.

The mage in the center of the room spun, her staff still held defensively as she gauged Aydan and her companions.

"Oh, I should have told you," Alistair apologized. "Part of training as a templar is being able to sense magic."

"It's you!" the mage called, interrupted whatever questions Aydan may have had. "No... come no further. Grey Warden or no, I will strike you down where you stand!"

Aydan's eyes narrowed on the old woman, the same mage at Ostagar that had wished her luck just before her joining. But regardless of the familiarity, a feather of rage fluttered within her at the mage's tone. The condition of the hallway just behind them had put her rather on edge, reminded her of things she no longer desired to think of. The mage's tone only set her more on edge. Purposely, Aydan closed the distance between them, silently daring the old woman to try something.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Aydan demanded.

With a sigh, the mage lowered her stave back to the ground. "I am a mage of the Circle. But more importantly, why are _you _here? The templars would not let just anyone by."

"I am not just anyone," Aydan agreed.

The woman's gaze swept over the entire party, her obvious disdain slightly insulting.

"We came to the tower seeking the aid of the mages. And we found this..." Aydan swept out a hand to indicate the condition.

"And Greagoir told you that the Circle was in no shape to help you, I suppose."

She gave a small shrug, casually leaning into a hip. "Perhaps not in those exact words."

"So why did the templars let you in? Do they plan to attack the tower now?"

"Not right this moment, but soon if we don't hurry," Alistair spoke up, clearly anxious to continue with this endeavour. As was Aydan.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Look," Aydan interrupted. "What does it matter why they let us in? The point is that we've come to help. Now are you going to let us pass or continue to berate us with endless questions?"

The mage's eyes widened. "You plan to help us?"

"No, I just entered the tower for fun," Aydan grumbled. "What do you think?"

"What do I think? I think Greagoir believes the tower beyond repair. They abandoned us to our fate, but even trapped as we are, we have survived. If they invoke the Right, however, we will not be able to stand against them."

"That's why I'm here," Aydan finished. "If I can clear out the tower of all abominations, he will open the doors."

"I erected a barrier over the door leading to the rest of the tower, so nothing from inside could attack the children."

Aydan's memory resurfaced on the child in the hall. Apparently she hadn't been able to save them all.

"You will not be able to enter the tower as long as the barrier holds, but I will dispel it if you join with me to save this Circle."

"I've already said that is why I'm here, this conversation proves itself pointless. We must find this First Enchanter though. Greagoir mentioned that he will only listen to him."

"Then our path is laid out before us," she said gently. "My name is Wynne."

"I'm Aydan," she said as she strode towards the barrier. "Back there is Alistair, Leliana, Kallian, and Sten."

Hushed murmurs drew Aydan's attention back to find one of the younger mages conversing with Wynne. After a small discussion, Wynne turned back to Aydan with a gentle smile. "If you are ready, let go end this."

Aydan's jaw jerked towards the barrier. "Can you bring this down?"

"My pleasure," the mage said. "It made me quite weary."

Aydan had nothing to say to that. She merely leaned back and watched as Wynne murmured a rush of words under her breath. With a flash of power that Aydan felt spindling in her head, the barrier came down. Her fingers tightened on the hilt until the leather complained under her grip.

She took a last cleansing breath and stepped within the door, her companions following tightly behind her.

-O-O-O-

Her limp was rather severe as she staggered over to the nearest wall and slanted against it. Ignoring her heaving chest, she leaned her head against the cold bricks and allowed her eyes to drift shut. Pain tore through her left leg with every breath. There was no question, it was broken. Even Kallian had heard the crack of the bone in the last fight and she'd been clear across the room. She turned down the potion Alistair handed her from the sack. Now was not the time for her to be sick and if she'd learned anything from camp that one night, elfroot was not compatible with her system. Beyond which, there were other, slightly more serious wounds to contend with first.

Upon scouting the second floor, they'd stumbled across some blood mages. Honourable they were not. Aydan knew nothing of magic, but she didn't need to. The burns festering on Leliana's face spoke volumes more. Their mage was hovering over Leliana as Aydan rested, her magic constantly swelling within her head. For the first time, she found herself grateful for it. It was enough to distract her momentarily from the searing agony assaulting her leg.

"How are you?" Alistair murmured as he claimed a spot of wall next to her.

"Couldn't be better," she groused, slitting one eye open to glare at the man. Perched next to her, he looked like a blighted ray of sunshine, a single scratch trailing the length of his cheek the only war wound he had to speak of.

"Really," he mused. "Because the trail of blood you're leaving behind suggests otherwise."

Her eyes shot down to the ground and sure enough there it was, as fresh as the corpses they were leaving behind.

"Now will you take a potion?" he pleaded.

Her stomach twisted with the realization that the bone must have pierced through her leg. And with that image, she swayed. It was only the sturdy hands of Alistair that kept her upright.

"Aydan, please," he begged. "We can't afford to have you or I injured right now. We're the front line of defense."

"Injured or ill, take your pick."

"Neither," the withered voice she was coming to familiarize herself with spoke. "You're going to have to remove your armor."

Aydan turned her eyes to meet Wynne's, her face blank even though she heard her words.

"Remove my armor?"

"We have to set the bone before it can be healed properly."

Her world shifted the moment those words registered. A haze of oblivion closed in on her. Setting bones was a painful and messy business. She found herself wishing for Leliana's burns. Although if she were wishing, it'd be for neither.

"Aydan?" Alistair questioned, his hand waving in front of her face. Blinking, she found herself on the ground, staring up at dusty rafters. Somehow in that short amount of time, they'd already lowered her to the ground and removed her armor, stripping her down to her leathers. Yet, she remembered nothing.

"Here," Sten spoke, one of the rare moments, and presented her with a leather bracer, strings included. She took it, noting how badly her fingers trembled.

"How is this to help?" she questioned.

"Bite down," he offered.

The two shared a similar glance. Not a stranger to injury, this one. The moment Wynne laid her hands upon her leg, Aydan saw twinkling little stars. It was Alistair who took the bracer and held it before her mouth.

"Ready?" Wynne questioned.

Aydan's lips parted and the leather slid between. Somehow it tasted of cinnamon and dough, yet she knew it came from Sten's bag. She was granted a single moment of wonderment before Wynne snapped the bone back in place. Her scream, while muffled, still sliced through the room, her whimpered cries after fading into the leather. Liquid fire seemed to pour through her leg and she knew nothing could stop it.

Someone's fingers were threading through her hair, their hushed words of comfort reassuring. A swirl of warmth formed in her stomach as she recognized the voice to be Alistair's. She tipped her head back, refusing to watch as Wynne continued to work on her leg, her gaze sliding over his face until she met his. He fed her a soft encouraging smile, only ruined with a final crack. She hadn't expected that one and this time her scream exploded around the bracer, having lost her grip when she looked up at him. It was only his hands that held her in place, forcing her down as she struggled up. Tears drenched her cheeks, her words incoherent as she resisted his grip. But finally, with a strange gesture and muffled words, the pain began to ebb, leaving behind only a shadow of before.

"Give it a few moments and you'll be as good as new," Wynne declared, her eyes unabashedly locked onto the only scar visible when in her leathers.

"Good as new," Aydan repeated, her voice thick with tears. "Wonder what that would be like."

Everyone rose from her side and stalked off, all but Alistair.

"You did well," he told her. "I'll always remember the time that was done to me."

"Leg?" she asked.

"Collarbone," he answered. Even Aydan winced at the thought. "I was young and foolish and thought it wise to chase the mabari's. How quickly it turned to them chasing me," he grinned softly. "Eamon told me I was lucky they hadn't finished the job."

Aydan shared a smile with him, her thoughts centering on Farkas. It was rare for her to go anywhere without him and she was feeling the ache of his absence even now.

"You know, ironically, I haven't met a single mabari that's liked me since," he continued.

She knew he was simply keeping her busy, but she didn't mind. Anything was better than the reality of their situation.

The two clasped hands and he helped her up, bracing her as she tenderly placed weight on her leg. But, thank the Maker, Wynne had been right. Good as new.

-O-O-O-

It seemed this tower was never ending. Every staircase seemed to lead them somewhere frightfully more gruesome than the last. Bulbous flesh strung from the walls, blood splattered the floor, and corpses lined it. They'd slaughtered so many demons, Aydan had cracked a joke to Alistair about how they could add magical exterminations to their list of skills. No one seemed to appreciate that one.

The next room they'd cleared had been rather disturbing. They'd caught a desire demon charming a templar to believe he had a family. At first Aydan couldn't possibly understand why, but Alistair's words gave her insight to the life of a templar. It was forbidden. She'd felt sick the moment her blade slid through his belly. He'd done nothing wrong, but at least he'd be free from the demon's care.

The benefit was the new armor they'd procured for Alistair. And he'd desperately needed it. Now he stood, all shiny, in his silver plate armor, engraved with the blazing sword of Andaraste. Quite fitting, dressing him as a templar, as he was one. For some reason, she'd always like a man in armor, and even though it was slightly reminiscent of a dress, the armor seemed to suit him.

"Morrigan, I'm sure will love it," Aydan told him as she helped him fasten the final buckles. The chainmail he had been sporting was meant to go to Kallian. She'd come from the Dalish with her own, but Alistair's was still better.

"Can't wait," he laughed, their fingers brushing as they both reached for the final clasp. He ducked his head the moment a blush crept into his cheeks and allowed Aydan to finish the job.

"I'll just give her the book when she starts complaining about it," Aydan commented. It was in the First Enchanter's office that she'd found something Alistair had called a grimoire. But the surprise had been when they saw Flemeth's name etched across it. Wynne had severely disapproved of Aydan swiping the book, but the way she saw it, it belonged to Morrigan at the very least. She'd even posed the question as to why the First Enchanter would have it, but Wynne held silent on that question.

Once she had him buckled up, the approached the next room, both aware of the distant hum of voices coming from inside.

So when they staggered into a circular room, filled with statues, and surprise, more corpses, she wasn't shocked. What was startling, however, was the newest beast to face, hovering over the body of two other mages.

"Sloth demon," Wynne informed them. "Very powerful."

"Well, well, what do we have here?" the demon purred as it turned away from its other toys and neared them.

Aydan's eyes flashed down to the two men, anxious until she caught the rise of their chests.

"What have you done to them?" she demanded, drawing her energy inwards and spindling it in her chest. The only benefit she'd found in cleansing the tower so far was the improvement she'd gained in drawing in the energy. The Smiting still needed much work, the last time it had been Leliana that had felt the brunt of it, this time actually injuring the poor girl. Wynne had quietly patched her up and requested that she keep to injuring the demons and walking dead over her companions.

"Oh don't worry about them. They're just having a quick little nap."

"Niall!" Wynne gasped. "Daylen! Release them demon!"

"Now why would I want to do that?"

Aydan brought her sword up, about to rush forward when a curious sensation began to creep on her. How quickly her arm grew tired. Why was she holding this sword? She couldn't remember. As she struggled to remember what was happening, she felt the slowing of her pulse, listened as her breathing grew laboured. From the ache weighing on her head, she knew it was magic. But she couldn't seem to maintain enough energy to cleanse their surroundings.

"Alistair," she murmured as she covered her yawn with the back of her hand. "Do something."

"So tired, Ayd," he commented behind her.

"S'demon," she couldn't form the words that were hovering on the tip of her tongue. Just as before, a dark abyss crept in on her, her eyes drifting shut unwillingly.

"Do not... give in," Wynne reproached, but Aydan could hear the weariness in her voice too.

"Sleep," the demon taunted as it paced around them, its fingers falling on her shoulder as he passed.

The ground came rushing up around her, her knees slamming painfully into the tiled floor. Yet it did nothing to rouse her thoughts. She meant to tell any who could, to run. But her lips felt numb as she struggled to move them. Not a single sound came out. A cloudy haze formed around her, ripping away all reality and replacing it with the memory of what were once pleasant dreams.

As she slipped into the darkness she feared, Alistair's name fell from her lips once more but it went unanswered.

* * *

><p>AN: Yay the fade is next! I hate playing that section of the game but _love_ writing about it, there's so much you can do with it! Hopefully everyone is enjoying everything and thanks for all the subscriptions, readers, reviewers, etc.!


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

_For You are the fire at the heart of the world_

_And comfort is only Yours to give_

-Aydan-

A high pitched squeal roused her from her mid-day nap, a small smile curving her lips. Oren must have been running about somewhere. The familiar weight of Farkas rested against her side, his massive head leaning on her thigh. The moment she moved, he echoed her, his massive paws thumping to the ground as she reached for her garments.

Her fingers trailed the fine silks of the newest dress her mother had purchased from her latest visit to the market district. How well her mother knew her. Folds of deep crimson edged with black, the dress was quite suited to her. She slipped it over her skin, relishing in the feel of the soft silks. Warrior, she may be, her mother still demanded she dressed befitting a Cousland. It was only when she was training that she fashioned her leathers. Turning she swept from the room, following the happy squeals of her nephew.

The corridors seemed to stretch forever, abandoned it seemed, as not a single voice found her. She'd never seen Cousland Castle so empty before, as though a void rested in the courtyard.

"Strange," she murmured to herself, turning her gaze down on her faithful hound still attached to her side.

"Auntie!" she heard a young boy shriek seconds before something barrelled into her. Small arms clung around her thighs, a face buried in her skirts.

"Now, now, Oren," a deep voice laughed. "Give your dear Auntie a chance to breath."

Aydan's gaze swept over her brother's fair face, her lips curving into a smile. "Hello Fergus."

"Nice nap sister?" he teased, swooping down over them and ruffling his son's hair.

She thought back on it, a flicker of darkness taking form in her memories. Without waiting for her response, Fergus bent down, swept his son up into his arms, and tossed him into the air. His laughter brought warmth to her heart that felt foreign.

"Where's Oriana?" Aydan questioned.

"Oh she's about, I'm sure."

"Darling!" another familiar voice came from behind her.

Aydan turned to find both her mother and father crossing the field, their arms outstretched in welcome.

She went into her father's arms willingly, her eyes fluttering shut. "I feel as though I haven't seen you in forever."

"Nonsense pup!" he laughed. "I'm right here."

As she backed away, she stared at her family, a true grin spreading across her lips. How she loved them. Yet, something was missing. She couldn't place her finger on it, but there was still an emptiness weighing on her chest.

She heard her name once more and she turned, a breeze fluttering around the bottom of her dress. As though conjured from her thoughts, a man slightly taller than Fergus was crossing the field, his gait strong and determined. The sun shimmered off his hair and cast an honest glow about him. Dressed in the clothes of a noble, he appeared radiant, a silver tunic drawing out the rosy tint of his lips.

"Alistair," she greeted him with an honest smile.

Her fingers intertwined with his as she allowed him to draw her towards him. The fluttering of her heart was unexpected but welcome. They shared a gaze, her lips spreading into a gentle smile. This was how it should be between them, no more death and despair. But with the surfacing of that thought, Aydan paused. Death and despair, when had there been that?

As though sensing her withdrawal, he curved back from her, the now hardened amber eyes sending a shiver down her spine. Something was off but she couldn't put her finger on it, there was just something strangely different about Alistair. While she'd always found him handsome, now he appeared absolutely beautiful with almost an ethereal glow about him that he'd never possessed before. Her eyes narrowed in on his mouth, a faded memory of jabbing him in the lips teasing her thoughts. She drew her hand from his, trailing upwards, her fingers caressing his bowed mouth. It wasn't until she reached the edge of his upper lip that she paused, her eyes narrowing on the perfect arch. There, something was missing. Her thumb brushed against his lip once more, searching for that tiny imperfection that she'd noticed the first day they'd met but there was nothing. His skin was flawless, perfect.

She slanted back, shifting away from his touch.

"What?" he asked softly, reaching for her. "Ayd?"

_Ayd_, she'd heard that somewhere before, from these same lips, only not. Her eyes flashed down on her silks. When had she taken to wearing dresses? Snatches of arguements surfaced, her mother demanding that she play the part of Lady Cousland, and Aydan insisting on returning to her leathers.

She glanced back over her shoulder, noting how picture perfect her family stood, with Oren balanced on Fergus' shoulder, his father's arm slung low around the waist of her mother. But that wasn't right either. The image of a child sprawled on his back, his neck laid open for the world to see surfaced, clawing through the happy memory before her. Not a memory. Alistair had never been a part of her family. He'd never had the opportunity to meet them. So why was he here now?

"Ayd?" Alistair whispered, drawing her back around to face him.

"You're not Alistair," she hissed as something solid formed between her fingers. Recognizing the feel of the family blade, she stared down at it, wondering how it could have suddenly appeared.

"Don't be ridiculous," he laughed, her family chiming in behind them. Never had their laughs sounded anything close to that.

She took a single step away, and then another, the wind no longer gripping at her dress as it was replaced with silver armor heavily drenched with blood. Suddenly she could recall everything; the corpses, the blood, and the demons.

She turned to her family once more, a gasp slipping past her lips as they suddenly collapsed into piles of ash. An abrupt crack of thunder struck overhead, the cloudless sunny sky shattering as darkness extending its reach across the entire land.

"Stay," Alistair beckoned her, his hand outstretched towards her. "I can do better."

There was something strange about his voice now, dark with an edge the true Alistair's never held. Another flash of darkness and a flicker of a demon's face replaced that of Alistair's.

"Demon," she hissed. Was this what it meant to be trapped in the fade? She remembered the feeling of drifting off the moment the demon touched her.

The shape of Alistair faded for a mere moment, but his smile still remained, twisted on the face of the demon. Then, just as quickly, it was Alistair again, that small indent above his lip practically shining like a beacon. But it was too late.

Angry with herself more than anything else, she rushed forward, her eyes snapping shut at the last moment so she wouldn't see her sword run Alistair through. But, oh how she felt the metal slide through his gut like butter. How she heard his pained gasp as he was pitted on the edge of her blade, and the feel of his fingertips grazing her cheek as he slipped to the ground.

The ground rumbled beneath her, throwing her to and fro. She slipped in his blood as she struggled to gain her footing, but she still refused to look down, her panicked voice the only thing telling her it wasn't truly Alistair. No, she hadn't actually killed her companion and friend. She whispered the words over and over under her breath as she waited for the ground to stop quaking. When it finally did, she dared to open her eyes, finding herself standing in the center of a dark land. Somewhere she'd never seen before in her life. Deadened plants hovered along the many patches of weeds, thick purplish clouds trailing across the blackened sky, flashes of lightening flickering in the distance.

"Who are you?" a voice demanded. "Are you a demon?"

She turned her gaze across the land to find another tall man approaching her, his circle robes billowing in the ceaseless unforgiving wind.

"Aydan Cousland," she said, recognizing the face from the tower, he was one of the mages under the sloth demons tender care. But the question remained, was he really? "Who are you?"

"Daylen Amell," he murmured quietly.

"Are _you _a demon?" she questioned softly, wondering how she could possibly know if he was.

"No," he growled. "Are you?"

She shook her head but both just stared. If one had taken the form of Alistair and had almost convinced her, how was she to know if this man was earnest? There was no tiny nuance that she would know of to use as comparison and she knew of no other way.

"Come," he disrupted her thoughts. "We can't stay here, the demons always know when you escape your prison."

His hand slid through hers and he pulled until she followed. Had she any other options?

"Where are my companions?" she asked.

"Each is being held in their own prison. If you want to free them you'll have to get to them first." He altered their course and brought her to a strange looking map. "Each of these islands houses one of your companions. If you can get to them and make them see the reality of the fade, they'll be freed as you have."

She glanced up at him, noting yet another handsome face. Did Ferelden know no other? But what gave her relief was the fact that he offered assistance. It seemed safe to assume if he were a demon, he wouldn't offer. Regardless, she felt the need for more information. "There were two of you."

"Niall," he said in a dejected voice, bowing his head in defeat. "He's moved on already. When I stumbled over his demon, he had already been put under. I don't know how much time has passed since I was taken, but I know he was already in trouble when I arrived."

"Trouble?" she questioned.

"The longer you remain in the fade, the less likely you are to wake."

"What exactly is the Fade?" she asked.

A rumble of thunder and a flash of lightening followed her question. But what caught her attention was the sound of slow footsteps making their way towards them.

"Here!" he hissed, drawing her down towards the ground and creeping under a large prickly bush. She dove after him, nodding when she saw him hold his finger up to his lips.

A demon, similar to the one she had fallen to in the Circle hovered just before them, his gaze scouring the land. Somehow, she just knew it was searching for them.

After what felt like an eternity, the creature moved on and Daylen lead her out of the brush.

"The Fade is a metaphysical realm that is separated by the Veil, I'm sure you've heard of that."

She gave a quick nod.

"It's split into different sections belonging to the spirits that live there. They change the landscape to emulate what they see in the minds of dreamers."

"I don't-"

"Understand?" he asked. "You broke free of your prison. Think back to what they showed you. The demons mimic what they see in our minds, our deepest desires which would be reflected in our dreams."

Her breath caught in her throat. Her family, obviously, would be the pivotal point to her dreams, but Alistair's presence threw her a little. Had the demon been wrong, or did it see something she hadn't yet?

"Only those that are forced into the fade can break free of the demon's grasp. But even then it takes great fortitude. You must be quite strong," he whispered, his gaze darting over every inch of land as they spoke. "I'd love to explain more to you, but if you're to free your companions, you must do it now. I will help as much as I can. You see these islands?" he asked, pointing at the map. "That is where you'll find them. When all five of them are freed, the sloth demon will know and try to force us all back. We must work together in order to defeat it. Once it's defeated, we're free."

She cast another glance upon the man crouched low next to her. Alistair had appeared flawless when he came to her in her 'dream'. She could only imagine that was the influence of the demon. This man before her, Daylen, was far from perfect. There was a slight crook to his nose that suggested it'd been broken before and his lips were a slight bit too large for his face. His eyes, while dark and quite beautiful, were wide and hidden beneath a thick fringe of bang. Able to see these imperfections gave her an ounce of hope that he wasn't a demon because she was about to trust her life to him in hopes of finding a way out.

Nodding, the two rose from the map and began towards the first island. Aydan only hoped they weren't too late.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

An inky darkness blanketed Ostagar, the stench of ale and the sound of rowdy merriment circumventing around the group of men seated lazily at the lengthened table. A swell of laughter bubbled out of Alistair's lips as he watched one of his fellow Grey Wardens make a pass at one of the female mages, and quite poorly at that. Even with his lack of knowledge on the subject, he could have done better. Of course, that seemed a shared thought among all the men. Alistair slanted back in his chair, the front two legs rising in the air as he leaned against the stone wall. What was it about a camp full of men that made them immediately resort to seeking out the softer sort of company? Every night seemed to pass in the same order. They'd eat, drink, and laugh, before finally beginning the hunt for whatever member of the opposite sex was to warm their bed that night. As for himself, there was only one that interested him, and her absence was felt quite aptly. His eyes swept over the throng, searching for the thick, wavy, dark as night hair that seemed to shine out to him wherever she was. Yet, she was nowhere to be found. There were no startling blue eyes, the color of what he'd imagine the sea to look like, peering out at him from a shadow.

"Looking for someone?" an amused voice questioned.

Alistair's lips curved into a gentle smile as he turned towards Duncan. "No one specific, I suppose."

"Really," the older warrior asked. "You mean to tell me you aren't sitting here searching endlessly for one Lady Cousland?"

Was he truly that obvious? Heat warmed his cheeks as he ducked his head, his gaze suddenly locked onto the silver toes of his boots. Was that... blood he saw darkening the armor?

"I think the men here would call you smitten," Duncan continued, detracting his gaze from his feet. "And to think a mere time ago, the woman very nearly killed you."

"_Love is much like a wild rose, beautiful and calm, but willing to draw blood in its defense_," Alistair spoke, reciting a quote he'd heard once, but suddenly couldn't recall from where.

He turned his gaze up to his mentor who watched him with a bemused smirk. "Well put Alistair."

He gave a gentle shrug. "You pick things up."

"Indeed," he said with a nod as he lifted his flacon of ale to his lips, tasting deeply of it.

"No patrols tonight?" Alistair questioned. Perhaps that was where Aydan was.

"Patrols?" Duncan laughed. "Oh dear boy, there haven't been patrols necessary in a very long time."

"But the darkspawn-"

"Are eradicated," Duncan informed him. "Remember?"

"Eradicated?" Alistair repeated, a frown turning down his face as he stared sceptically at Duncan. "That doesn't sound right. There has always been darkspawn and always will be."

Duncan's laughter was booming as his hand slapped over his chest. "Oh the eagerness of youth. The Blight is over boy. It's time for us all to find a new way in life. It's time to make a home."

"Home," he repeated once more, turning his attention back to the unruly group of Grey Wardens. They certainly seemed content. Could Duncan's words be true?

"Ah, here comes our fair lady," Duncan smiled. "Perhaps you will take her word for it over mine."

Alistair snapped straight in his seat, his eyes immediately seeking out the lithe form of Aydan Cousland as she slid agilely in and around the other Grey Wardens.

"Aydan!" they jeered in one great voice, men from every corner of the mess tent coming forward to speak with her. Alistair rose from his chair the moment her beseeching eyes slammed into his. It must have been difficult being the only current female Grey Warden. All the men practically salivated over her. Of course, it wasn't as though he was any different.

Multiple hands extended towards her, offering more ale than he was positive the poor woman could consume.

"Alright," Duncan proclaimed as he rose swiftly from his seat. "Back you slobbering dogs, back! Let the two junior Wardens speak."

Alistair fought against shying away from the loud cheers and ignored the catcalls being flung at him from every direction.

"Where have you been?" Alistair asked with humor. "I've been waiting for you."

She peered up at him from under her long eyelashes, a curious quirk with her head. "You've been waiting for _me_?"

"Well, of course!" he laughed, wincing the moment another Grey Warden's hand slapped down on his back.

Music swelled up, from where he had no idea. But suddenly, hands upon hands were grasping at the two of them and yanking them into the center of the open topped tent.

"Dance!" they roared moments before the men swept down on whatever woman they could find willing to dance with them.

Alistair cleared his throat before glancing down at her. With a shy smile, he reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers before leading her into the first rounds of the dance he'd learned a long time ago. She moved fluidly against him, quite versed it seemed in the ways of dance herself.

His lips parted with the intention to spark conversation between them when she spoke, her words low and rushed.

"Alistair, we should get out of here."

After a slight hiccup in their footing, he smiled nervously. He must have been crazy, indeed, for his first thought to assume Aydan Cousland was inviting him back to her tent. And while his entire being felt the pull towards her, fear held him back.

"Alistair," she hissed under her breath, those damned eyes darting in every direction. "Come on, Alistair, snap out of it. We need to leave."

Her voice was smothered with reverence, her shoulders tight as she held herself rigid against him.

"Aydan?" he murmured.

"This is the Fade," she spoke, her sweetly scent burning through him. He heard her words, but staring down at her like this, under the starry night sky with the soft hymns of music flowing around them, he found it hard to focus on anything other than the fact that Aydan was in his arms, gazing up at him.

The constant vexation of the men surrounding them dimmed into silence. His eyes swept over her face, the music swelling until it reached its high point. Surrounded by nothing more than the blessed eternal cover of night, he plucked his courage and dipped towards her. The moment he claimed her mouth, it was as though time stopped for this one moment. He was aware of her fingers tightening against his, the shift of her hips as she closed the distance between them and the feel of her lips melding with his. Struggling to ignore the quick paced patter of his heart, he drew back, amused at the shocked look etched across her face as her fingers trembled at her lips. For a second he feared he'd overstepped his bounds, but then he remembered her response and caught the tiniest smile. His mouth curved blithely as he led her towards the massive expanse of his chest once more, the tips of his fingers running down her jaw. When he claimed her lips once more, a searing blaze consumed his heart. If ever the moment, it was now, when they parted and she gazed up at him, that he fell for Aydan Cousland. And there was no fear in that, simply happiness.

Cheers and jeers arose from all around them. Alistair's head rose to find every Grey Warden within the area watching, their laughter hiding behind their mugs as they continued to drink. He spun her around to the beat of the music, hoping to ignore them. But as he did, the moment seemed to shatter, as all moments eventually did. Concern slid back behind her eyes as she glanced around once more.

"Aydan, what's wrong?" he questioned.

"I need you to think," she begged, ignoring the frown darkening his face. "Alistair what's the last thing you remember."

A soft chuckle rose from his chest. "Kissing you."

Her cheeks flushed, filling him with content, but she continued. "Before that. Before all of this. We entered the Circle tower, do you remember that?"

He spun her artfully again, noting how closely Duncan watched. There was an odd look about his face, dark and eerily malevolent. Never had Duncan wore a look like that.

"Alistair, focus," she snapped. "Do you remember the Circle tower?"

His head canted to the side. He remembered... fighting, so much fighting, and a sharp scream as he held Aydan's hand. He remembered blood, death... and then nothing. As for the tower, he remembered that as well.

"Do you remember coming across a sloth demon?" she asked then.

He was about to respond. There was a flicker of a memory. Something with two mages sprawled across a tiled, blood soaked floor. But Duncan chose that moment to cross the tent and approach them.

"My apologies Aydan," he smiled at her, but there was something off about it, now that Alistair was looking. "I need to borrow Alistair for a moment."

"No," she growled, her hands tightening against his as she drew him away.

"Aydan, Duncan," Alistair mumbled, glancing between the two of them.

"Alistair," she called. "Please, I really need you to focus right now. Please, for our sake. Do you remember the sloth demon?"

"Yes," he hedged.

The moment the word left his mouth, a loud clap of thunder reverberated across the land as a flash of lightening struck directly behind the treeline, igniting a fiery blaze. Alistair shouted a word of warning, turning to Duncan only to find his face distorting into that of the blighted sloth demon.

His hands reached for Aydan to yank her away but he was too slow. A steel sword formed in her hand and she turned, a determined look set upon her face. It was all Alistair could do was watch as she slid the blade home, her free hand pressed against the demon's chest. With a final gasp, it dropped to its knees before them.

"Aydan!" Alistair called, reaching for her but there suddenly seemed an eternal distance between them.

"It's time to wake Alistair," she crooned softly.

The ground shook violently beneath him. Time to wake? From what? Was this a dream? The Fade, she'd said. At the sudden silence, he turned to find every last Grey Warden collapsing into a pile of ash, an unremitting wind scattering them to the four corners.

"Where are you going?" he demanded as he glanced back at Aydan to find her shimmering before him.

"With you," was all she said, a small smile climbing her lips. Immediately, his pulse slowed. It didn't matter where he was going, so long as she was with him. This time when she reached for him, the distance was manageable. He slid his hand into hers and followed.

* * *

><p>AN: I absolutely love writing about the fade, there is so much you can do! As you can see Goldanna is not included in Alistair's. Beyond the fact that we've all seen/read about it numerous times, I thought to go a different way. Alistair is obssessed with family (which typically leads to Goldanna) but Duncan was the man he always thought to be his father and the Grey Wardens the first place he was ever truly happy. So since the fade is like a dream, I chose to go that route for Alistair. And as Duncan is more fitting for him than it is the Warden, who never really got to know Duncan, I chose her family for her. Hopefully everyone liked it! And again, thanks for all the readers, reviewers, subscribers, all that jazz. I'm glad everyone is enjoying the story!

As for the quote Alistair mentions, it is by Mark Overby, in case anyone is wondering.

Onwards!


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him._

_Foul and corrupt are they_

_Who have taken His gift_

_And turned it against His children._

_They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones._

_They shall find no rest in this world_

_Or beyond._

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

Her hand dragged through her hair, brushing it back from her face. She hadn't even had a chance to open her eyes yet and already she could fear the ferocious throb spreading across her head. It felt like someone was violently knocking on the inside of her skull. And from the piteous groans coming from her companions, it seemed safe to assume she wasn't the only one in pain.

Inhaling a deep breath, she pushed off the floor, her fingers seeking out the tender spot at the back of her neck. When she finally forced her eyes open, her hand shielding her eyes from the bright harsh lights, she found the others doing the same.

"Let's not do that again," Leliana murmured behind her as she rested gently against the wall.

Aydan completely agreed. For apparently being trapped in a dream, she didn't feel the slightest bit rested. She glanced down at the mage shifting across the floor near the center of the room. His dark eyes were staring up at her, a gentle smile shining at her.

"You did it," he said as he brushed the dark fringe of bangs from his brow.

She only nodded, slowly of course. But it hadn't just been her. The demon had fallen, not easily, but of course, it never was. And without Daylen, Aydan had no idea how she could have done it. She never would have known about the islands or learned how to get to them. Suffice to say, she hoped never to shift into a mouse again. She loathed the feeling of vulnerability that had come with it, skirting around on the mouldy ground, searching for secret ways between the islands. He'd even been the one to wake the other three companions while she'd been working on Alistair.

The moment his name crossed her mind, she turned to him. His gaze was directed towards the ground, his face screwed up in a confused knot. She could sympathize. It was hard to sort out what was real and the fade; it had all seemed real. The smell of her father's skin, the feel of Oren pressed against her, none of it felt like a dream. Just as her lips still burned from their shared kiss.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, gasping when her vision faded for a moment. It was Alistair whose hands where there, steadying her just as she was about to stumble back over. They shared a glance, his eyes sweeping down over her lips. Swallowing, she turned away. It wasn't the right time to focus on that.

"Here," Daylen commented as he perched over the other body, fishing something out of the robes and handing it over to her. "Take this."

"What is it?" Aydan questioned as she turned it over in her hands. The parchment felt aged and the slightly yellowing color only proved it.

"I think it's the solution Niall was working on. Owain mentioned it to me before I stumbled in here. The Litany of Adralla."

She waited for a further explanation but nothing came. "And that would be?" she questioned.

"A way to prevent mind control," he said around a yawn. "All that matters is that this can stop Uldred. I think Niall was heading to the Harrowing Chamber, another level up, when he obviously ran into this thing." He toed the detached head of the demon and it slid across the floor, away from its still twitching body. "Recite the chant and it'll disrupt whatever spell Uldred is casting on the other mages."

"Other mages?" Alistair asked.

Daylen nodded. "Owain told me Uldred took a group up there. The First Enchanter was among them."

"Irving!" Wynne gasped. "We need to get there."

"Take the scroll," Daylen nodded towards it. "Use it and kill the bastard. It'll put an end to all of this."

"You aren't coming with?" Ayden asked, stepping cautiously towards him.

"No," he said with a soft shake. "I'm not fit to help you fight. I'll head down at my own pace and meet you at the doors. Hopefully Greagoir lets me through."

"You'd probably be safer with us," she suggested.

"And I might endanger you more. Having a mage travel with you isn't the wisest decision at the moment, in case you haven't noticed. Where there are mages, demons are sure to follow," he replied, his gaze darkening as his attention swept back to Wynne. "Don't worry about me Aydan, I can take care of myself. Been doing it my whole life."

She cast a glance back over her shoulder, noting how the elder mage had directed her attention elsewhere, clearly avoiding his pointed glares.

"You're sure?"

He fed her a gentle smile. "I'll be fine, honestly. Better, now that I'm... free."

She'd read the hesitation in that final word but felt it inappropriate to question him on it at this moment. There were far more important issues to deal with.

"Alright," she whispered. "Be safe. We'll meet you down there."

His hand fell on her shoulder as he offered her comfort. "Good luck."

She turned to the rest of her companions. It wasn't hard to take note of their exhaustion. Even Sten leaned against the wall, his shield braced between his legs as he waited. And as much as she would have loved to grant them a break, she knew they had to get to the Harrowing Chamber if they were to put an end to all of this. With a final deep breath, she turned back to the door, coated in more gore than she'd ever seen, and directed them forwards. Maker willing, it'd be the last staircase.

-O-O-O-

She stared brokenly down on the mangled body of what once had been a mage. So much had gone wrong, too much for her to even recount. As she gazed on their pale face, the feeling of failure slithered through her gut. That templar just beyond the stairwell had told her she hadn't understood a thing about the situation brewing up here, and Maker, he'd been right. Even as he spouted insanities and spat upon the ground when she told him she'd save every last innocent up here, he'd been right.

She drifted towards another body, this one much larger and far more gruesome. Any abomination they'd faced along the way was nothing compared to this one. Uldred, he'd been when they first started out, only to shift into this beast the moment Aydan told him she would not bend to his will.

Upon entering the chamber, she'd entrusted the scroll to Wynne. At her shocked look, Aydan explained that she and Alistair were the front line of defense. She couldn't risk losing one of their strongest soldiers to blather some chant at Uldred. Leliana, Kallian, and Sten were out of the question, she needed them to protect the group from the other abominations he'd created. And so that had left Wynne. She had clutched at the parchment and gave a single serious nod, understanding the levity of the task being thrust on her. In retrospect, Aydan still couldn't decide if that had been the wisest choice or not. The moment Uldred engaged them in combat, the Maker seemed to have turned his back on all of them.

At first, all had gone so well. At the first stirrings of a spell, Wynne's fevered words put an end to it. But everything went to the Void after. Uldred turned his attacks on Wynne, knowing that the Litany was the true threat. It mattered not what Aydan or Alistair threw at him, they could not turn his attention away from the mage.

At the last moment, Aydan remembered her and Alistair's first battle together and how she'd saved their lives by running the beast through. Uldred was three times that ogre's size, but she knew it was her best bet. And so, gripping her sword with both hands, she launched herself into the air and scaled the abomination's back, driving her blade home through the base of his skull, exactly where she could feel the ceaseless throb of her headache. Seconds later he'd fallen. Wynne, herself, was barely hanging on, stooping over her stave as she struggled for breath, a slow blue hue forming around her.

But she wasn't the mage Aydan had been staring at, nor was it Uldred. It was that of the First Enchanter. She'd been too slow and had failed yet another. All their work, all their effort, gone with the death of Irving.

Even now she could hear that blighted templar crooning about how it needed to be done, how it was the right thing to do. If that was so, then why didn't she feel that way? All she felt was that sick sense of failure, yet again.

She dropped her head down into her hands, her tears wetting her palms. The Circle had fallen. And it was her fault.

A heavy hand fell up on her arm. She turned to find Alistair watching her, his own shadows streaking across his face.

"We should head down," he told her, the weight of her disgrace darkening his voice.

"Why?" she sniped. "To listen as Greagoir refuses to open the doors?"

"Don't worry," the one named Cullen said. "My word should be sufficient enough. I'll get you out. I'll tell him of everything you've done."

Her lip curled in a sneer as she turned, allowing Alistair to lead her from the room. Before her trailed Wynne, whose sobs wrenched on Aydan's already damaged heart.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

To his utter surprise, the doors had already been opened, even before Cullen stalked in, professing the tower cleansed. Alistair ground his teeth in irritation, his fingers tightening on his blade at the sight of Aydan's slumping shoulders. By cleansed, the blighted templar meant there were no remaining mages, beyond Wynne and Daylen.

Together they passed through the doors and Alistair purposely grazed against her hand. She turned her face up towards him, but the stray tears sliding down her cheeks broke his heart.

"You say the Circle has been cleansed," Greagoir immediately pounced on them. "What does this mean?"

"They're all dead," Wynne murmured as she approached the templar. "We failed."

"All that matters is that there are no remaining abominations," Cullen spoke. "We can start anew, raise the Circle from the ashes and strengthen it."

Alistair turned towards the young templar, his vision going red. Did this fool not understand what had occurred here? He meant to speak on their behalf, explain exactly what happened, reassure everyone that it was no one's fault, when Aydan stalked past him, her heated words distracting him.

"What in the name of the Maker is going on here?" she shouted, her shrill voice eliciting a rather severe chill across his skin. His gaze followed hers to find Daylen lowered to his knees, his hands restrained behind his back. Blood trailed his face where Alistair was sure there hadn't been injuries before.

Greagoir followed her as well, his steps determined as he rushed to beat her there. "This man was under arrest before the fall of the Circle. Its condition does not change that."

Aydan's heated glare slid to the Knight-Commander, one that even Alistair winced away from. "What were the charges?"

"Aiding a blood mage," Greagoir stated, his jaw rising as though he felt Aydan would understand this.

"I didn't _know_ he was a blood mage," Daylen spat, blood trickling down his chin.

A light formed in Aydan's eyes as she stepped flush with the templar. "Am I to understand that this man was left in confinement while abominations tore through the tower?"

"If you think I was going to send my men after him, a known criminal-"

A strange sound fell from Aydan's lips, it sounded reminiscent of a scoff, only much angrier. "This is how the templars treat the mages?" she demanded. It seemed not to matter that she was at least a foot shorter than the Knight-Commander, she pressed into him until he cowed under her gaze. "It's no wonder they turned to blood magic. Tyrants, the whole lot of you," she accused.

She swept over to Daylen and lowered down, about to help him up when three different swords were brought down before her. And just that quickly, all chaos broke loose in the common area.

Alistair took up arms and instantly crossed the length of the room, his blade pointed at the Knight-Commander. Leliana and Kallian drew up behind the other templars, their own blades angled against the templars necks. Sten towered over Aydan protectively, his foreign eyes sweeping over the entire room, silently daring any of them to attack. It was only Wynne who remained where she'd been, her stave held loosely in her fingers.

"Do not touch that man," Greagoir ordered Aydan, his shoulders having gone rigid as he braced himself.

Aydan's gaze turned over the other templars but she didn't inch away. "You think to stop me?" she laughed maniacally.

"This is not your concern," the Knight-Commander barked. "This man is a mage and is under my protection."

"Protection?" she snapped. "You call this protection? Because I call it abuse."

"You do not understand, none of you understand."

"Oh I understand just fine," she growled deeply. "I understand that in the middle of a crisis, you're still only concerned with controlling them."

"Of course I am!" he shouted. "Look at the state of the tower! These people need to be controlled."

Alistair could have told him it was the wrong thing to say to diffuse the situation. Her eyes narrowed on the aging man, and with a final breath, she swept down on Daylen and gripped his shoulder.

"Do not touch that man," Greagoir growled.

But Aydan drew him up before turning the full weight of her gaze on the Knight-Commander. "Move."

"What do you think you are doing?" he demanded.

"Aydan," Daylen whispered. "Just go."

A single look from her silenced the poor mage. At the feel of Kallian's and Leliana's blades pressed into their necks, the other templars held, a little lost as to what to do. Greagoir on the other hand pressed forwards, his hands reaching towards Daylen. It was Sten who stopped him with a quick swipe of his axe.

"This man helped my comrades and I free ourselves from the fade," she informed him diplomatically. "He has shown far greater strength and courage than you or any of your men."

The Knight-Commander winced, shifting away from both the axe and the sharp words of Aydan. "It changes nothing," he argued.

"Oh, I think it changes everything. I'm extending the right of conscription to take him in as a Grey Warden."

Even Alistair startled.

"What?" Greagoir went red in the face, his gaze jumping between the mage and Aydan. "You can't-"

She turned on him again. "Actually, I can. And I will not hear another word about it. I have done much for you, Knight-Commander. You owe me. The tower is cleansed, as promised. Your precious templars are safe, as promised. You _will_ supply me with the men I require to fight the Blight. And this man _will_ be leaving with me tonight as a Grey Warden recruit."

Without waiting for another word, Aydan reached around Daylen and removed the shackles, the heavy metal clanging to the ground.

"And what of you?" Greagoir demanded of Wynne.

The elder mage's gaze bounced between Aydan and the Knight-Commander, clearly torn over her options. With a sigh, she lay a hand on Greagoir's arm. "While I am sure you could make use of me here, I know I am meant to follow this one and to help put an end to the Blight. That is, if she'll have me?"

Aydan gave a gentle nod towards Wynne, before she directed the entire party towards the door. Alistair stared after her in awe as none of the templars chased after them.

"You Grey Wardens," Greagoir hissed. "Always thinking you're above the law."

She flicked a glance back at him the moment she reached the doors. "Funny, I was just thinking the same thing of templars."

* * *

><p>AN: I chose to do it this way because of Aydan's issues with failure. While she might be getting better, she still hasn't dealt with that. As well, we've all read/played it out where the mages survive, so I wanted to write one where they don't. Hopefully everyone liked it :) Let me know what you think. And we now have two more companions: Amell and Wynne Yay!


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

_Those who had sought to claim _  
><em>Heaven by violence destroyed it. What was <em>  
><em>Golden and pure turned black. <em>  
><em>Those who had once been mage-lords, <em>  
><em>The brightest of their age,<em>  
><em>Were no longer men, but monsters.<em>

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

A wolf howled in the distance, dragging Alistair's thoughts from the dark path they travelled. The entire camp had fallen into a morose silence and it was only he that sat before the fire. Upon returning, yet again cloaked under the thick of night, everyone had gone their own ways. Kallian and Leliana had retired to Leliana's tent, giving Wynne the privacy of Kallian's. Daylen had been offered Alistair's. Sten had retreated to his own solitude. As for Aydan, last he'd caught sight of her, she'd been slinking through a thick patch of brush. Even now his eyes sought out the path as he debated going to her.

Farkas rose from Aydan's bedroll and shook out his fur before glaring pointedly at Alistair. Sometimes the intelligence of the mabari's amazed him. He let out a low huff before snapping his head in the direction of Aydan. If he ever needed a sign, that was it.

He let out a shuddering sigh and plucked his courage before rising to his feet. Darkspawn, abominations, blood mages, charmed templars, these were nothing compared to Aydan Cousland. A chilled breeze wrapped around him, puckering his skin as he weaved through the shadows. Each night it seemed to grow progressively colder. Of course it didn't help that each night they camped closer to the Frostback Mountains.

His fingers delved into the brush and parted it before he followed her path. It didn't take much time at all to find her. Every night they made camp, it was near a water source and it was here that he found her, seated on the frosted grass, her legs dangling in what had to be frigid water.

"Aydan?" he questioned, though from the sensation spiralling through his stomach, he knew it was her. That, or darkspawn were nearby.

"Hello Alistair," she stated in a dead-pan voice.

"Aren't you cold?" he teased as he lowered down next to her and tucked his knees into his chest.

Her shrug was distressing, so empty. "I don't feel it."

Having slept in the stables as a young boy, Alistair was well aware of how dangerous that was. He reached down, his fingers plunging into the cold water and drew her legs out.

"That might help," he murmured softly.

The air was crisp as it surrounded them, the threat of snow weighing heavily among them. He cast his eyes up to gaze upon the stars twinkling above them. The moon dipped low behind the treeline, rendering them in utter darkness. Yet he could see the planes of her face, the glow of her eyes, the shape of her lips, in his mind.

"You know it's not your fault," he started, trailing into silence when he caught her wince.

"I don't want to talk about that Alistair," she murmured.

Worrying at his lower lip, he turned his gaze back out across the stream, watching as the water broke over the rocks. "Maybe not," he finally stated. "But you might need to hear it either way. I've started to learn a few things about you Ayden…"

The tips of her hair whipped against his shoulder as she spun towards him. "And what might those be?"

He felt the tension spiking, sensed the dangerous area he was beginning to tread. His fingers fumbled with the hem of his undershirt as he debated going through with it. Knowing he couldn't just walk away, not from her, he let out a shuddering breath. "I've learned that you are protective of those you call friends, loyal beyond any sane amount, but most of all, I've learned that when anything goes wrong, you hold yourself to blame."

A silence crept between them. Only the sound of the crickets chirping in the woods behind them remained.

"Someone has to be held accountable," she finally whispered in a desperate voice.

Alistair turned on his patch of grass and grasped her hands. "Then hold those responsible accountable."

Her sigh was quiet as she turned away from him, drawing her fingers slowly away from his. "I am."

"No, you're holding yourself accountable. It is _not_ your fault that Uldred attacked the tower and turned the mages into abominations."

"Maybe not, but it is my fault that Irving is dead," she murmured.

He could see he wasn't getting anywhere with her and doubted he would in a single night. "Aydan," he said warmly. "Things happen that we have no control over. It took me a while to realize that. And when you do, your life is going to be a lot happier."

He rose from the grass and brushed down his linens. He'd meant to speak to her about what happened in the Fade, but he knew this wasn't the right time.

"Where are you going?" she asked as he moved towards the path.

"Back to camp. I thought you might want to be alone."

Her eyes flashed to him in the dark as she lowered down on her back. "Stay with me?" she asked. He read the hesitation in her and saw the naked vulnerability etched across her face.

"Here?" he asked, pointing to the cold, hardened ground.

She nodded before turning her gaze back up to the stars. "I don't want to stay in camp tonight. Too much noise. It's quiet here, peaceful. Don't you feel it?"

"Alright," he mused as he returned to her and stretched down on the chilled ground next to her. "Won't you be cold?"

She shook her head, a stray lock of hair tickling against his cheek.

The time seemed to slow with each passing moment. He felt her presence like a solid wall or warmth pressed up against him, even though they didn't touch. It was like a line of electricity passing between them. Alistair struggled to ignore the fact that her hand lay right next to him. It wouldn't take much at all to reach out and grasp it.

"Talk to me," she murmured so quietly he almost missed it.

"About what?"

He knew she turned towards him, her eyes boring through him. "Anything. Tell me of your childhood."

His chuckle eased through the dark night. "I thought you wanted peace and quiet?"

"I like the sound of your voice," she informed him. His heart skipped a beat at the confession.

He settled into the grass, debating what to tell her. His childhood wasn't the most exciting. The only thing that came to mind was the time he'd been caught playing in the rafters of the stables, hiding from one of the servants of Eamon's estate. They'd caught him trudging mud through the front hallways after a rather exhausting game of tag with one of the other kids. Eamon had come looking for him and nearly had a heart attack when he found him dangling from the rafters.

His body vibrated with his chuckle but there was no response. Glancing over, he found Aydan fast asleep. His heart warmed as he watched her. She had curled up on her side facing him, her head only inches from his shoulder as she'd listened to his story. Regardless of the cold, hard ground, he turned towards her and found the most comfortable nook he could before drifting off himself.

-O-O-O-

Something heavy rested on his arm. He wiggled his fingers, shivering the moment the pins and needles crept up to his shoulder. His arm was fast asleep and he had a feeling the weight against it had something to do with it. He stretched his entire body, right down to his toes, reveling in the feeling of a full night's sleep. But something was a little off. There was no warmth from his bedroll, no tightly curled pack balanced under his head for comfort. Instead a sheath of damp fabric covered him.

He finally opened his eyes, freezing the moment his gaze fell on the small woman tucked tightly against his side for warmth, her head the heavy weight on his arm. Dark hair covered half her face but his eyes lingered on the soft parting of her lips and the tiny beauty mark on the tip of her nose. He'd never noticed it before.

He'd meant to draw slowly away from her, allow her more sleep, but the moment he moved, he found her fingers interlocked in his shirt. He was effectively trapped, yet he found no complaint in this.

He lay his head back down and analyzed his position. Never had he woken at a woman's side before and he found he liked it. Though if he were honest enough, it was nothing to do with it being a woman, but it being _this _woman. Unable to resist temptation, he slowly reached towards her and brushed the stray hairs off her face, tucking them behind her ear. In the soft light of the morning, she was radiant. His only thought was to figure out a way to wake like this every morning.

Her sudden gasp startled him as she bolted up, the blanket someone had draped over them in the middle of the night pooling down into her lap. Her eyes cast down on him, confusion darkening her face.

"Alistair?" she questioned as she blinked furiously.

He couldn't help it, he chuckled. "Not too alert in the morning, are you?"

She stared at him, her eyes landing down on his arm where she'd been sleeping.

"You fell asleep," he told her.

Nodding, she wiped the sleep from her eyes and turned towards the stream. He weighed her reactions, struggling to figure out just what thoughts were crossing her mind at this moment. His thoughts returned to the Fade and their shared kiss. But beyond that, he remembered the night at the Gnawed Noble Tavern. That one simple sentence. _I like you_.

"Aydan," he began. "There was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

She hummed an acknowledgement as she crept towards the stream and splashed the ice cold water over her face.

He wondered where to even begin. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel awkward around him. By reminding her of the kiss, he feared it would do just that. So with a deep breath, he glanced over at her. "I just wanted to apologize for the Fade."

"Apologize?" she immediately demanded, snapping a glance back at him over her shoulder, droplets of water trailing her face.

He nodded and turned his gaze away from her, knowing that if he watched her, he'd never say what he wanted. "The Fade is a realm for dreamers," he told her. "What happens there isn't real. And I just wanted to let you know that I know the kiss wasn't real. And I wanted to apologize if it made you uncomfortable."

He heard her shuffling towards him but he didn't look away from the brush across the stream. He didn't want her to read in his face what he truly wanted. With Aydan, he'd learned it was best to let her come to you.

"Not real," she repeated quietly. "Tell me something Alistair," she said, her fingers falling lightly on his jaw as she turned his face back towards her.

His eyes met hers and he felt a lurch in his chest. "What?" he asked softly.

"Is this real?"

Before he could question her, her hot little lips pressed against his, the warmth of her tongue startling him. She settled against him, her fingers trailing up his cheek until they threaded through his hair. When she drew back, his eyes fluttered open to find her gazing down on him.

"Well?" she asked.

He found himself blinking, struggling in vain to clear his muddled thoughts. "Well what?"

Her smile was genuine and beautiful. "Was that real?"

All he could do was nod, a little lost for words.

She ducked down towards him once more, but froze at the sound of laughter coming from the trees. Aydan twisted off of Alistair's lap and glanced over in time to find Kallian and Leliana stumbling through the brush, their hands interlocked as Leliana drew Kallian towards the stream. Alistair turned towards them, about to call out when he watched Leliana curve around Kallian, her lips locking onto lithe elf.

His jaw dropped, daring to look away to glance at Aydan who showed no reaction whatsoever. The moment Kallian's hands trailed south, a furious blush screamed to Alistair's cheeks.

"Ladies," Aydan spoke, humor warming her voice.

The two broke apart with a startled gasp, their heated faces turning towards them.

"Oh, good morning," Leliana called to them.

"So it would seem," Aydan teased. Kallian turned away, hiding her face behind her hands.

"We came for the blanket," Leliana informed her. "To pack it up."

This time it was Alistair who looked away.

"We'll bring it when we return to camp," Aydan said as she rose and began to fold it up.

"Right," Kallian murmured as she dragged Leliana away.

"Did we just see that?" Alistair questioned.

But Aydan's smile was peaceful. "Don't tell me you hadn't seen that coming?"

He turned bewildered eyes back to the brush. "I didn't."

Her laugh was reassuring. "Oh Alistair."

As he rose next to her, he reached for the blanket and took it from her. "Wait, was I the only one that didn't see that?"

She rose on her tiptoes and brushed a gentle kiss against his lips. "Most likely."

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"So aiding a blood mage," Aydan spoke as they marched towards the Frostback Mountains. Alistair had fallen back about an hour ago to speak with Sten about something. It had left Daylen at the front with her and after a while, her curiosity simply took hold.

His sigh was a touch aggrieved. "It honestly is not as bad as it sounds. I merely helped one of my good friends escape the tower by destroying his phylactery. The blood magic was something unexpected. I'd had no idea."

She turned wide eyes towards him, her steps stumbling a little as she struggled to make sense of his rushed words.

"Alright," he conceded. "Maybe it was as bad as it sounds. But there's another side of the story. Jowan, my friend, had fallen in love with a Chantry initiate. I'm sure you can understand that's taboo. Of course, a mage developing any sort of emotions that suggest we're human is forbidden," he snapped bitterly. "She found out that he was to be made a tranquil." At her questioning look, Daylen just waved her off. "Just something the templars love to do to us mages if they think we're too dangerous. Cut us entirely off from the Fade, never to feel any sort of emotion ever again."

"That sounds horrible," Aydan whispered.

"It is what it is," he shrugged. "When they found out he was to be made tranquil, they came to me for help. We destroyed his phylactery-"

She interrupted once more. "Phylactery?"

"Just a way for the templars to track us, you know, like animals, if we escape. Either way, we succeeded. But just as Jowan was about to escape with Lily, Irving and Greagoir showed up. Needless to say, Jowan proved the rumors true that he was dabbling in the forbidden arts. Labeled me an accomplice to a Malificar, Lily as well. Last I heard, they sent her to Aeonar. In retrospect, I suppose I should feel lucky that I simply got confinement."

"How long were you in there?" she asked.

"I have no idea," he sighed. "Long enough."

She gave a nod, gazing at him from the corner of her eye. He'd only been in her care for a night and already it showed. With a full meal, a warm bed, and no one chasing him, his cheeks had filled out and his skin once again had a healthy hue to it. In a few more days he'd actually look like a man and not a walking skeleton.

"Listen, I've been meaning to thank you," he said. "For helping me back at the tower. Not many would have done such a thing for someone like me."

"Someone like you?" she repeated.

"You know," he growled as he swiped at his thick fringe. "A mage."

"I couldn't just leave you there, not like that."

He nodded. "That's what I mean. I haven't met very many people who would have cared. Mind you, this is my first time free of the tower."

She stumbled again. "You'd never been outside of the tower?"

His laugh was smooth. "Of course we had. They let us out every now and then for recreation. But _free_ from the tower, no. Even then, the templars patrolled the perimeter we were to keep to."

"That sounds horrible," she admitted with a small shake.

"When I saw you in the Fade, I thought you were a demon," he admitted. "There was no way my luck would deliver me someone like you."

Her laugh was soft. "I thought the same thing."

"I'm glad you weren't one," he murmured, turning to gaze gently on her as he brushed a lock of hair over her shoulder.

Aydan forced a smile. "Me too."

He turned back to the road, clearing his throat. "So you haven't told me who you are."

This time her smile was genuine. "Just another Grey Warden." Before he could question further, she turned to face her group, her gaze locking with Alistair. "Let's set up camp here for the night. Tomorrow we should reach Orzammar."

* * *

><p>AN: A little romance in there for everyone :) Thanks to everyone again, glad you're all still enjoying the story.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

_Blessed are they who stand before_  
><em>The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.<em>  
><em>Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

_The hem of her cloak dragged through the thick fringe of foliage scattered around her feet. The soft perfume of orange blossoms surrounded her as she slowly moved through the fallen leaves. Layers of pinks and blues streaked across the darkening sky as the sun dipped towards the horizon. The shadows were nearby, she could feel their chilled presence as aptly as the soft breeze against her skin. _

Aydan Cousland_, a voice purred within the encroaching darkness. _

_Dazzling blue eyes peered out from beneath the dark hood of her cloak, errant strands of raven dark hair flowing with the breeze. At her side, her fingers tightened on the dragon boned hilts of her blades. _

_A final burst of light reached over the land, swallowed instantly by the pursuing darkness. The scent of orange blossom diminished into what could only be described as decay. The foliage at her feet withered and disintegrated. And above her the skies opened as a slight drizzle fell upon the land. _

_With darkness came the shadows, writhing out from among the trees, their putrid scent blocking her senses. Their rotted faces stared back at her, their sharpened teeth glittering against the flashes of lightening ravaging the land. Darkspawn, she knew them as, soulless creatures that brought about destruction and the end. _

_From the veil of the cloak, her lips curved dangerously. Yet none advanced towards her. They simply stood in the distance, ever watchful. _

_At a sudden rumbling beneath her feet, Aydan shifted her weight. The line of shadows before her turned away as a horde, their beady eyes following the line of the land. Aydan gazed after them, her hands held out for balance, when a fracture suddenly appeared between her feet, the earth crumbling inwards as the ground began to split. She dove to the side, her hood falling back to expose her face to the elements. Her nimble feet led her to the edge of the earth, just as she'd done at Ostagar and she gazed down into the fiery depths. _

_With a final flash of lightening, a beast arose from the pits of the earth, its massive wings violently tossing her backwards. _

_Aydan scrambled to her feet, having already drawn her blades. She rocked back and forth, balancing on her toes as she waited. The two locked eyes, the obsidian slits within the brilliant yellow contracting as the dragon stared. _

_Aydan shoved off the ground, her toes digging into the loose earth as she gained speed. At the edge of the impending abyss, she launched herself into the air, her back arcing as she sailed across the gaping expanse. The dragon threw its head back, its massive roar echoing over the land. _

_Her feet touched the other side, but she pressed harder, pushing towards the beast. The darkspawn surrounding them let out shrieks that brought her blood to a boil. But she would not stop. She would never stop. Not until the archdemon's blood spilled over the land. _

_She threw herself in the air once more, her blades piercing through the soft flesh of its side. Her fingers held tightly to the hilt as the beast thrashed about, fire spewing in every direction. Withdrawing the blade, Aydan scaled up its wing and perched onto its back, her gloved hands digging into its neck for balance. Her chest heaved from exertion, her face hot and damp with sweat. But this meant nothing. With another breath, she kicked off its neck and plunged her blades through the soft flesh of the back of its head. _

_Its wail shrieked into the night. Before Aydan could deliver the final blow, wind sailed through her ears, her stomach lurching as she was tossed into the air. As she plummeted, she altered her direction and gripped her blades. It was the steel blade that drove through the beast's neck, jarring Aydan against its side. In a sheer panic, the dragon clawed its way across the despairing land, bucking violently as it tried to rid itself of her. She felt her fingers slip, the thick sheen of blood making it difficult to find a grip. She braced her legs against its neck and placed her weight on one arm, using the other to rip the other blade free. Before the dragon could take advantage of her position she drilled the blade home once more, the sharp sound of shattering bone dragging a malicious smile from her lips. _

_The creature spilled to the ground, its blood seeping out into the soils. But as Aydan rose, a sudden glow encased her and expanded to absorb the surrounding darkspawn. _

_She struggled against whatever magic held her prisoner as droves of pain slammed into her wave after wave. Her lips parted and a blood curdling scream poured from the depths. Dinstantly she felt herself fall, her knees driving into the soiled earth. Blinded by the light, her head was thrown back as another scream wrenched free. _

"Aydan!" a frightened voice shouted near her ear. She was vaguely aware of a heavy hand shaking her fiercely.

The image of the dragon vanished as quickly as her eyes flashed open in the dark, staring up into the concerned face of Daylen.

A shuddering breath puffed through the night air.

"What's wrong?" Daylen demanded. All around her were familiar faces peering down on her, their concern obvious. The only one missing was Alistair.

Her head turned to the side to find him stretched out in front of the fire.

"He'll sleep through anything," Leliana teased weakly.

But Aydan knew better. From the tight lines of his body and the twitching of his fingers at his side, she knew he too was trapped in one of those dreams.

The moment she tried to rise up, Daylen's hands were there, curving under her elbows. Her gaze met his for a brief moment before she drew away from him and started towards Alistair. She dropped down next to him, the dew from the frosted grass wetting through her pants.

"Alistair," she murmured softly, her fingers curving around her shoulder as she shook him.

His head thrashed away from her, stress lines forming at his eyes.

"Alistair," she tried louder. "Wake up."

Knowing how engrossed she'd been in her own dream she wasn't surprised he wasn't waking. She bowed over him and took both shoulders into her hands and gave him another violent shake.

Still rattled from her own dream, she wasn't prepared when he suddenly lurched up. Pain exploded across her brow as she fell back. Laughter swelled around them, rousing her fuddled thoughts away from the twinkling stars overhead.

Both Alistair and Aydan cupped their heads as they rose.

"Aydan?" he asked weakly.

"You were having a nightmare," she informed him, balancing her weight as she bowed her head, hoping for the ache to lessen.

"He wasn't the only one," Daylen said. "What _was_ that?"

Aydan turned to Alistair, hoping he had an answer because she sure didn't.

With a grimace he waved them off. "Just another fun side effect of being a Grey Warden."

"Well, why were _you_ the one screaming bloody murder?" Daylen questioned, his eyes burning into her.

Aydan glanced to Leliana, who nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised if the templars from the Circle came knocking."

"It's worse for those who join during a Blight," Alistair whispered, his questioning gaze landing on her.

"And you want me to join you?" Daylen laughed unbelievably.

"Alright," Aydan said. "Fun's over. Back to bed everyone. Sten, get some sleep, I'll take shift."

It wasn't like she was ever going to sleep again after that.

Everyone retired to their tents. Daylen flicked her one more glance before zipping up his own flaps, his genuine and endearing smile a touch disconcerting.

She shouldn't have been surprised when Alistair took the seat next to her.

"Bad one hey?" he asked.

"Not until the end," she admitted.

But that was the extent of it. Neither wanted to discuss it anymore than necessary.

"So it seems I have some competition," Alistair joked after a few moments of silence.

Aydan glanced over at him, the hue from the fire casting a warm glow across his face.

"What?" she murmured, still a little lost.

He smiled, but she could see it was forced. "The mage, Daylen. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

She just shrugged but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She'd been wondering that herself. "Don't tell me you're actually worried?"

The look on his face was purely astonished. "Me?" he teased. "Nothing worries me. I'm all man."

A true laugh fell from her lips and it felt good. She hadn't realized how much she loved it.

His warm eyes turned to her. "You should do that more often, it suits you."

"I used to," she informed him. "Who knows, maybe one day I will again."

"Think the templars will actually come investigate?" he teased.

A warm blush scoured her cheeks. "I think they have better things to do."

It was his turn to laugh. "Oh you'd be surprised. When I was young and living in the Chantry, the silences would drive me batty. Sometimes I would just let out a scream, shake things up a little you know? The templars thought someone was trying to murder me."

An image of Alistair young and foolish penetrated her thoughts. She could just see him doing something like that. A low chuckle eased out.

"Ah, another laugh," he grinned excitedly. "I'm on a roll tonight!"

Shaking her head, she reached for a stick and poked it into the fire, watching as it ignited. Even when they fell into a silence it was comfortable. She couldn't have asked for anything more than that.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

How he loathed politics. And it wasn't the first time he'd thought this. It had shaped his life, and certainly not for the better. Sitting there, in Tapsters, listening to Dulin preach to them about this Harrowmont after what they had just put Aydan through, it made his blood boil just thinking about it. Even now, she was resting in one of the rooms they'd been put up in by Harrowmont after defeating the entire lot of warriors in the Proving. As for him, he'd sat in awe and watched, horrified when every sword swiped closer to her face. It had taken all his restraint not to rush down to help her. And when he'd glanced over at Daylen to find him just as entranced and frightened, it only angered him further.

With every drop of blood the crowd had only cheered. It was only the Maker he could thank when she left the grounds relatively unscathed.

And now he sat in Tapster's listening as Dulin preached Harrowmont's politics and beliefs. None of which he even cared about. He just wanted to go check on Aydan.

"If you'd like, I will take you to him now," Dulin spoke up.

The entire table swiveled towards Alistair, who only now realized what Dulin had offered. "Oh," he murmured. "I'd prefer if we wait for Aydan to meet with him if that's alright."

"Of course," the dwarf said with a nod as he rose from the table and slid his drained mug towards Sten who simply stared at it. "You know where to find me when she's ready."

Alistair had a pretty good idea of where to find him. The table emptied rather quickly, everyone apparently bolting to their own rooms, excited for a night in a somewhat comfortable bed with heated surroundings. So quickly in fact, that they left Alistair to pay off the tab.

After emptying his pockets he left the rather rambunctious tavern, skittering around the many flailing, obscenely drunk, dwarves.

Orzammar was intriguing to him with its high ceilings and heated walls with flowing lava. Everywhere he looked there were more dwarves, selling their wares and discussing all the news they could. Primarily the choice between Bhelen and Harrowmont. But even as he progressed towards his room, the gossip of the visiting Grey Wardens was spreading just as fast.

They'd chosen Harrowmont immediately upon entering Orzammar and stumbling into a battle between the two successors. He wasn't entirely sure what Aydan saw, but upon hearing about the stale mate, she'd sought out Harrowmont. And now that he was thinking about it, he immediately found his feet leading him to her room.

But there was already a shadow darkening her doorstep, his knuckles rapping against her door. Alistair slanted back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he simply watched. Her door cracked open a sliver, light pouring out into the hall. He couldn't hear their words, but he could see her lips moving as she spoke with him.

She gave a slight nod and that was when her eyes darted over his shoulder and found him. He couldn't help it, he smiled, snickering at the slight tug on the corners of her lips.

She said something else and gave him a polite nod before retreating back into her room. Daylen turned, his steps faltering when he caught Alistair leaning casually against the wall.

"Was just checking up on her," he stated as he skirted past him.

A couple seconds passed as Alistair watched him slip into his open room and softly shut it behind him.

He'd barely taken a few steps towards her room when the door cracked open once more, her smiling face beaming out at him.

"Hurry up," she hissed, beckoning him with a laugh.

He skated through the door, laughing as it shut behind him. "Why so secretive?"

"Easier that way," she mentioned as he turned towards her, his jaw dropping. She was practically glowing, she looked so radiant. The smell of flowers drifted over him, her long dark hair tumbling freely down her back. But it was the silk dress that caught his eye. Nothing too spectacular, merely a night gown it seemed, but the deep crimson set off her pale skin and drew his attention to her eyes.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine," she groaned. "People really need to stop asking me that. The ladies brought me some herbs for my bath and gave me this, as a congratulations for winning the Proving."

"Herbs?" he questioned suspiciously with a small wink.

She held her hand up, her grin refreshing. "No illness and no slobbering drunkenness."

"Happy day," he laughed. "We'll have to stock up on those herbs."

"I don't think they do anything beyond making me smell nice."

"Mmm," he murmured as he neared her, his nose brushing against the length of her neck. "Then we'll _definitely_ have to stock up on them."

Her fingers trailed up his side, his skin puckering the moment she grazed against his side.

"We're, uh, to meet Harrowmont tomorrow," he informed her as she drew away.

With a sigh, she tucked her hair over her shoulder and slowly sank down into the bed. "He seems the better choice, right?" she asked.

Alistair gave a slight shrug. "I'm really not the person to ask that. But personally, they both seem to be the wrong choice."

She nodded. "I felt that as well. But there's really no other option for us. We need to pick one, for one to take the throne, in order to get our troops."

He eyed the void in the bed next to her, almost daring to stretch out across it. For some reason it seemed more intimate than the cold hard ground in camp. Before he could debate with himself if he should stretch out next to her, her fingers slid through his and gently pulled him down onto the mattress.

"It'll be nice to sleep in a bed for once," she murmured.

He knew she was searching for a topic of discussion. Yet, he couldn't seem to form any coherent words, not with the heat he felt pouring off her skin. She must have just gotten out of the bath recently. Sleep, however, was the furthest thing from his mind.

As though sensing where his thoughts had strayed to, she turned over onto her side and gazed at him from the length of her arm. "Have you ever…"

He cleared his throat and focused his attention on her words. "Ever what?"

The grin she flashed him was startling. He responded in kind, realizing how her guard was lowering around him, how every day she smiled more and more.

"Licked a lamppost in winter." she laughed. "What do you think I mean?"

"Oh," he stuttered, his cheeks flaming with heat. "Uh, no."

"Really," she mused. "Any particular reason?"

This time it was his turn to chuckle. "While I'm sure the Chantry would have loved to stumble across that sort of behavior under their own roof, I've never met the right person," he told her. "It wasn't the place for rambunctious boys. We were taught to behave like gentlemen."

"Gentlemen," she smiled. "That doesn't exist. Believe me."

There was something in her words, something that caught his attention. Glancing down at her, his thumb gently dragged across her knuckles. "Have… you?" he questioned, "Ever licked a lamppost in winter?"

Her lips parted with another laugh and he watched as her eyes lit up. So, finally, he'd met the real Aydan Cousland. This was the woman that resembled the portrait her brother had sketched. This was the real woman behind the pain and armor.

"No," she finally said. "That wouldn't have been appropriate, as a Cousland. Besides, I wasn't much interested in the men my mother kept throwing at me."

He couldn't express the relief he felt. "And none of those men ever caught your interest?"

She shook her head. "It annoyed my mother to no end. I was her only daughter, someone she'd hoped to buy fancy dresses and discuss flowers. Don't get me wrong, I like flowers, but I could care less about their arrangements. She loved me dearly, but I know, she would have preferred the proper daughter. Not the one who was only interested in sparring with the soldiers and drowning my brother in puddles of mud. I think she kept parading the endless line of suitors in hopes of enticing me with one of them. The more she showed me, the better her chances of finding one that caught my eye."

"Endless?" He repeated in mock horror.

"Boundless," she teased.

"And none of them caught your eye, at all?"

She fed him a crooked smile that melted his heart. "Not a single one."

He glanced down at their entwined fingers. "So, why me?"

"What can I say," she needled. "There's just something so attractive about a man who nearly wets himself when you press a blade into his throat."

"I did no such thing!" he cried playfully.

"Please, you would have gotten on your knees and begged me to spare you."

A low growl rumbled from his chest at the memory of her chilled blade pressing into his neck. "I was merely contemplating the best way to kiss my butt goodbye." He enjoyed how easily she laughed around him, the sound was like music to his ears. "But seriously," he continued.

"Seriously? Because I think you're the only one that might be able to take me in a fight."

He chuckled. "And don't you forget it Lady Cousland."

"What about you? Are there no woman out there swooning at the sight of Alistair the Grey Warden?"

"Oh plenty," he teased. "Haven't you noticed my own endless line of women, fawning over me everywhere we go? I'm not sure what to do with all of them."

She rose up and brushed her lips against his. "Send them my way. I'll show them were to go," she murmured in a dangerous, possessive voice.

"Hmm," he hummed a second before he claimed her mouth, his arms locking gently around her waist and drawing her up over his chest. "Deal."

* * *

><p>AN: And now we return to the craziness! In case anyone is confused, I altered the title a little. I've decided to make a trilogy using these characters, so the title has been changed to reflect this trilogy: "Every Rose Has its Thorn" :D. Happy reading! And thanks to everyone again, I'm really enjoying writing this story and I'm glad that you're all enjoying reading it.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

_Only Orzammar itself remained, the last bastion of an ancient empire that had once sprawled over all of the deep of Thedas. The dwarves had been brought low, but we had survived._

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"You're improving by leaps and bounds, Aydan," Alistair spoke quietly as he circled her. Of everything, that was the most distracting. It was difficult enough to quiet her thoughts, but to know that he was circling her, ever watching, and to feel the strength of his gaze, she was surprised she managed to hold in the position she did. She stretched out her neck and settled her thoughts once more, using the sound of his voice to drown out the snickers of her party as they watched. Alistair had thought the distraction would help her to develop the ability to immediately draw up the energy.

With a steadying breath, she emptied her thoughts and slowly became numb to her surroundings. Distantly she was aware of him speaking once more, but she'd found her abyss and was hovering in darkness. Tension leaked out of her muscles as her body sank into a purely relaxed state. She'd never felt this calm, even before Howe. A warrior existed only through awareness but even in this state, she was aware of Alistair standing just slightly to her right and behind; Sten off to the side, slanting against a wall as he watched; Leliana and Kallian were seated at a nearby table, their giggles stifled behind the palms of their hands; Morrigan hovered near the door, her sighs constant; Wynne and Daylen were seated in cushioned wooden chairs, their silence the most unnerving.

The energy came naturally to her now, spindling through her like a font of water. But that wasn't the lesson for the day. In fact, he'd kept that to himself earlier when he came to collect her, a small smile curving the corner of his lips as he took Wynne's arm and led her away, the two speaking in hushed undertones. That, by itself, was a bit telling of what was to come.

As though on cue, something plucked at her aura, something she'd been unaware of until recently. Alistair had spoken of it as a fortress, a barrier that was meant to impede any and all magical attacks, regardless of direction. _Picture it as a large impenetrable wall_, he'd told her, _layered in bricks that no one can perforate_. Bricks hadn't worked. For her it was more of a tower, completely devoid of any weaknesses. Bricks she could see being torn down, but a fortress was impervious.

She had a moment to wonder about it when a pressure formed in her head. Back at the tower she'd learned that to mean someone was gathering their will. But before she could decipher which of the three mages it was, wind swirled next to her head. A gasp slipped past her lips as a second later she threw herself down to the ground, listening as a blade sliced through the air where she had been.

Aydan's eyes flashed open to find the rather large Qunari standing above her, his axe clasped in both hands, those lavender eyes burning through her. With a nasty grin, she released the energy stored within, her laughter chiming with everyone else's the moment he staggered back, his axe clattering to the ground.

"Wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Alistair chuckled as he extended a hand to help her up.

"Are we finished with these games?" Morrigan snapped from the door.

"Why, do you have something better to do?" Alistair growled, his expression immediately darkening the moment he turned to her.

Her heated glaze slid to him. "Always."

"You know, Morrigan," he snapped. "No one is forcing you to be here."

As though those were the magic words, Morrigan vanished down the hallway, barely casting a single glance back their way.

"Much better," Aydan heard Alistair grumble under his breath. "Now, let's try this again and this time Sten, if you feel the urge to swing your blade, I'm sure Leliana or Kallian would be willing to spar with you."

Aydan glanced over in time to catch Kallian paling at Alistair's words. Slowly, Leliana rose, a challenge forming in her eyes as she sidled up next to the qunari, her fingers twirling her blades.

"Alright, Aydan," Alistair said, pulling her in front of Wynne. "I think it's safe to say you have the Smite down pat. So let's move on. Wynne, I'd like for you to cast a Glyph of Paralysis."

Aydan instinctively inched away. Ever since the Brecilian Forest, she didn't like anything that trapped her in a single spot, unable to move.

Alistair gave her hand a slight squeeze. "When she casts it, direct the energy outwards, exactly like you would do to Smite, but focus on the magic instead of the person. This will cleanse the area of all spells."

Now _that_ she liked. Never to be trapped again. Alistair stepped back and Aydan gave a small nod to Wynne, whose lined face gently smiled at her.

Her stave tapped against the floor. Aydan was vaguely aware of the magic creeping across the ground, targeting her. It started at her feet, exactly as the frost spell had done, and began to climb. The moment it reached her knees, her breath was coming faster, her chest tightening as her panic began to claw free.

"Focus Aydan," Alistair called to her, obviously not oblivious to her fear. "Focus and cleanse the area. Once you do, the spells gone."

The words made sense, in theory, but calming herself enough to concentrate on the energy needed was an entirely different task. Her arms locked down at her side, a crushing weight impressing on her chest. As it reached her neck, tiny panicked noises slipped from behind her lips.

Alistair suddenly shadowed over her, her eyes darting to his, silently pleading with him to call the mage off.

"What are you doing?" Daylen suddenly demanded, lurching out of his chair to stalk before them.

"She can do this," Alistair crooned, his amber eyes drawing her in. "Just concentrate. Deep breath and focus."

"She's obviously frightened," Daylen snapped.

Something strengthened in Aydan the moment she heard those words. _Frightened_? When was she ever frightened of something? She forced her eyes shut and concentrated as best she could.

"Wynne," Daylen hissed. "Withdraw the glyph."

"Don't," Alistair's words were comforting. He believed in her, trusted her to do this. And she would. Never again would she fall prey to a spell.

She felt her chest swell with the energy and before she could even think of it, she pushed it outwards, focusing on the magic instead of Wynne as Alistair had told her.

The moment it touched the spell, it shattered. Her hands fluttered at her side as she choked down a lungful of air. Even Daylen fell silent as the entire room turned to her.

"Absolutely perfect," Alistair told her, his face radiating how proud he was.

A soft rap against the wall drew everyone's attention towards the sound. Even Farkas roused, his small woof coming moments afterwards. Curving around the wall was a small dwarven woman in rags that seemed to hang off her.

"Excuse me for interrupting," she announced as she tucked a frizzed lock of hair behind her ear. "But Harrowmont will see you now."

-O-O-O-

"I am a Grey Warden," Aydan's voice was dark and dangerous as she paced the length of Harrowmont's desk, her fingers constantly running down the length of her blade. "Not an errand girl, nor am I an assassin."

"I never assumed as much."

"Perhaps Bhelen would be the better candidate," she threatened. "The dwarves require leadership, not someone who cannot deal with his own troubles."

"I assure you," he stated defensively, his fingers trailing through his beard. "I am better suited for this role than Bhelen."

"Yet he has not once requested that I hunt down and eradicate a gang of thieves and murderers as a way to secure the men I require."

"To get your army, a king must be named in front of the council. You are simply assisting me in taking the throne. This benefits you as well, you will get your army. A favor for a favor."

Aydan turned from the room, her mood having severely plummeted since entering Harrowmont's chambers. Alistair stood off to the side, his own expression of contempt curving his face. The others Aydan had sent back to Tapsters. She'd thought they'd be leaving tonight and assured them this was their last chance to get rowdy with the dwarves. It seemed she'd been wrong.

"It better be," she growled before stalking from the room. She allowed a few moments of silence to pass between them as they stalked the corridor leading back out into the Diamond Quarter before she spoke. "Absolutely ridiculous. Why is it we are plagued by these incessant needs no matter where we travel. Is it insane to hope for someone to willingly want to help us instead of presenting us a list of demands?"

Alistair held silent, which was probably for the best as she was just ranting.

"News of the hour!" a crier bellowed next to her as they progressed towards the door leading to the Commons. "Lord Bhelen is a... bad, bad man! Yes! Very bad!"

Aydan's steps faltered as she cast a glance towards the dwarf. Was that seriously the very best he could do?

"If the Blight takes over while we're down here playing nurse maid to the dwarves, I'm going to be very upset," she continued as she yanked open the door.

"Maybe it won't be difficult," Alistair consoled her. "Maybe we'll walk into Tapsters and Jarvia will be _right there_! We can kick a little carta butt and all be in bed within an hour."

She laughed indecisively. "Wouldn't that be nice."

-O-O-O-

Another door, another hall, another barrage of dwarves that seemed to think they'd be the group to finish them. As it turned out, Alistair had, in fact, been wrong about it being uncomplicated. From the moment they crossed into Tapsters and paid for information on where to seek Jarvia out, an entire night had passed as they systematically scoured the dozens upon dozens of rooms winding through Dust Town.

She stared down at the weighty dwarf. She'd been formidable, at least more than Aydan had expected, but dead was dead, regardless of how she might have felt about it. She'd preached to Harrowmont that she wasn't an assassin, yet here she stood, hovering over the dwarf's mangled body. It seemed she'd been proven wrong.

"Let's go," she murmured coldly to her companions as she stepped over the piles of corpses. He'd wanted the woman dead, now she was. It was time for him to pay up.

She led them through the ever winding corridors, following the trail of bodies as breadcrumbs.

Her steps led her away from the so-called entrance she'd found after painfully extracting the information from one of Jarvia's men. With every step, more and more faces turned towards her, their lips parted in horror. It was that which made her turn. Each and every one of her companions was heavily stained with dwarven blood. It ran down her own armor in rivulets, the droplets seeping into the dirt.

It didn't take long at all to cross back into the Common area. However, the reaction among the dwarves was a touch different. Apparently it took a lot to shock those that dwelled in Dust Town, they were used to blood and gore. But the commoners seemed appalled. Aydan's eyes narrowed as she passed them. They cheered and jeered for her while she'd fought in the Proving, in sanctioned fights. But out here, after clearing out the carta that had plagued their existences, or so she'd been told, she was met with horror.

"Alistair," Wynne snapped. "Stop picking at it!"

It was the first any of her companions had spoken since Jarvia fell.

"It's all itchy," Alistair whined like a child.

Aydan flicked a glance back over at him to find his fingers prodding at a puckered well of skin slashed across his neck.

"It's healing," Wynne told him. "Stop picking before you re-open it."

"Can't you just heal it completely?" he asked.

"I told you I would when we got back to our rooms. I need some lyrium. Until then," a sharp sound dragged Aydan's attention back to the two as Wynne slapped his hand. "Stop touching."

"You're kind of mean for an old lady," Alistair grumbled as he quickened his steps to match Aydan's.

"Old lady or not, I can still hear you," she called after him.

Her gaze met Alistair's as he came flush next to her, her eyes trailing the angry gash across his neck. The very first room they'd entered, one of the dwarves had skilfully thrown his dagger across the expanse of the room, the blade laying open the side of Alistair's neck. Aydan had felt a rush of fear unlike any other, the sight of his blood trailing down under the collar of his armor reminding her of her father. She'd applied pressure to the wound in an attempt to staunch the flow, only for the blood to seep through her fingers. Her fear had torn away some of her calm exterior and replaced it with sheer panic. She couldn't lose another that she cared about.

"Aydan, is something-"

"Why don't you take everyone back to the rooms, I'll meet you there," she interrupted him before he could ask her what was wrong.

A shadow darkened his eyes. She felt exposed, as though he could see right through her, as he normally did. And for now, she just needed time alone to think, to regain her composure. It was the first time she'd sent Alistair away and she was fairly confident he was aware of it.

"Are you sure?" he questioned.

She gave a brusque nod and before stalking off towards the Diamond Quarters. Time be damned, she had a meeting with Harrowmont, whether he was awake for it or not.

So deep in her thoughts, she barely turned when her shoulder jarred against a stumbling dwarf, meandering crookedly through the halls.

"Sodding nug humper, wouldn't know his own feet from his arse," she heard the dwarf grumble.

"Excuse me?" she questioned.

Clouded eyes turned up to her, drops of ale clinging to his beard. "Umph, woman nug humper. Nice legs," he garbled before turning and stumbling off.

Aydan couldn't be sure if he'd even been referring to her. Either way, she turned back and knocked loudly on Harrowmont's double doors.

Quick steps rushed towards to the doors, their face peeking out from the sliver they cracked open.

"Lord Harrowmont is-" the woman fell into silence, her beady little eyes running over her armor.

Aydan's hand slapped against the door and shoved it open, stepping around the dwarf and pushing into the estate. "I couldn't give a damn what your Lord Harrowmont is doing. Get him out here."

"Yes m'lady," the woman murmured before rushing off once more.

Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long. She wanted to leave Orzammar now. Never had she felt so filthy in her life. Jarvia might have been a criminal, but Aydan still disliked how this entire deal made her feel. It was slightly reminiscent of Zathrian. _Slay the werewolves and I'll give you men._ _Slay the carta and I'll give you men_. Why did everyone seem to think she was a blade for hire? At least the tower had been savaged by creatures that were beyond anything human. She'd felt no aversion to destroying every last one of them, but this, for some reason, set her nerves on edge.

"Ancestors," the man whispered as he took in the sight of her.

She waved her hand. "Yes, I'm sure I'm a sight. The task is done. My end has been held up. Now, will you give me the men I need?"

She knew the moment he averted his gaze that it wasn't going to be that simple. Her anger surfaced once more at the sight of him tiptoeing around the topic. She found herself standing there, her teeth grinding painfully as he explained the need for her to enter the Deep Roads in search of some paragon named Branka. He was blathering incessantly about how the council will listen to a paragon, it will put an end to the stalemate. As though murdering an entire carta was nothing. _Nothing_.

His words faltered when he caught site of the anger blazing from her eyes. More promises, more guarantees that this would be the last thing he asked of her. Her fingers clenched around her blade, only the tiny voice in her head that she assigned as Alistair's reminding her that killing Harrowmont would not help any.

No words left her lips as she spun on her splattered heel and stalked from the estate, suddenly craving a drink.

-O-O-O-

"I can see what you're thinking," a light voice dragged Aydan's thoughts out of the flacon of swirling ale. "And murdering Harrowmont will not put an end to this."

"I assure you it would," Aydan slurred, her eyes sliding to her right as Leliana took the seat next to her. "Without Harrowmont, Bhelen takes the throne by default."

The woman's lips parted into a soft smile. "There will always be someone else vying for something beyond their reach. So tell me, what is it that vexes you so?"

Aydan slammed her mug down onto the counter, eying up the bartender until he refilled it. "Now we are to enter the Deep Roads. Searching for some paragon or something, someone named Branka."

"And this angers you?" Leliana questioned softly.

"I'm tired of everyone thinking I'm an errand boy," she laughed against the rim of her glass. "Or girl as it might be. Loghain and Cailan - Ostagar," she informed Leliana. "They gave Alistair and I the wonderful challenge of _lighting a beacon_. Lothering - that merchant demanded I frighten off the Chantry sister, mother, whatever. Brecilian Forest - Zathrian wouldn't help until I cleared out those troublesome werewolves, and so forth and so on," she mumbled a tad erratically, her mug waving erratically before her face.

Her eyes focused on the bar in front of her. Had it always been a little slanted? When she turned to Leliana, she found the woman had a twin. That was new. She was fairly confident there'd only been the one before. Or had there?

"The way I see it," the twins spoke in unison. Maker, that was disturbing. She turned away with a shiver, tossing back the remainder of the ale before bellowing for another. "Had you and Alistair not lit the beacon-"

"Loghain would have what? Danced the Remigold down the front line?" Where had she heard that before? A familiar baritone voice had told it to her once. "That man would have run with his tail between his legs no matter what. So, instead, I wouldn't have received these lovely parting gifts," she rambled as she pointed to the scar shining above her heart.

"Alright," Leliana conceded. "As for the Brecilian Forest, you save a lot of lives there. The elves will forever be in your debt."

She snorted, ale splattering against the counter top. She couldn't remember what Leliana had said that was so funny, yet her shoulders still shook with laughter.

"As for Jarvia, she was a criminal, no?" the twins encouraged, their voices even lilting at the same time. "The dwarves will be better off without her."

"I bet Howe said that to his men once," she stated, waving her hand towards the innkeeper once more.

"I think, perhaps, you've had enough."

"I'm still awake, ain't I?" Aydan grumbled.

Leliana hummed an acknowledgement under her breath.

"Then I haven't had enough."

"My kinda woman," the dwarf next to her stated.

"Cheers!" Aydan slipped, her ale spilling over the counter as she and the dwarf clinked their glasses.

The twins left then, leaving Aydan to her anger and ale. Sadly, not for long. When they returned, there were another two with them, both men, and they looked familiar.

"Alistair's!" she slurred as she raised her cup in a salute.

"Maker, what have they been giving her?" the two men spoke, staring at her with a quirked eyebrow.

"Dwarven ale," the dwarf next to her announced with a belch. "Strong enough to knock any surfacer on their ass."

Large, warm hands wrapped around hers. The next thing she knew, her mug was gone, replaced with something equally wet, but cold and nowhere near as refreshing.

"We should get her in bed," the women said.

The two men gave a sharp nod. "Thanks for coming to get me Leliana."

The twins smiled down on her, even their lips were the same. Aydan's hand rose shakily, her finger jabbing the one of the left on the upper lip, before attempting to the same to the right. Apparently she missed as she stumbled forward.

"Maker, what was that about?"

"She does that when she's drunk," Alistair sighed.

Distantly she was aware of his arms sweeping out her legs, her vision swimming as she slipped backwards, only the strength of something firm and warm at her back saving her from smacking against the ground. That was the last thing she remembered.

* * *

><p>AN: I always hated how Bhelen or Harrowmont had you do their dirty work. But anywho onto the Deep Roads! Thanks again for all the readers and reviewers :)


	22. Chapter 22

-Chapter 22-

_And so we burned. We raised nations, we waged wars,_  
><em>We dreamed up false gods, great demons<em>  
><em>Who could cross the Veil into the waking world,<em>  
><em>Turned our devotion upon them, and forgot you.<em>

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

"That woman is quite hard to read," Leliana murmured to him the moment he lowered Aydan into her bed and drew the covers up to her chin. She hadn't even moved the entire way back to her room, having fallen unconscious the moment they'd moved for the door.

"Really?" he asked. "I find her quite easy." His cheeks burned brightly the moment Leliana's amused gaze turned towards him. "I don't mean, I didn't... I just meant I think she's easy to read."

"I suppose that's a good thing. Someone needs to know what's going on in that head."

Alistair actually found her thoughts quite justified, once Leliana informed him of what she'd been ranting about in the tavern. Most of which he'd even agreed with. He could honestly say he had no desire to enter the Deep Roads, not after knowing that was where Grey Wardens went to die.

Leliana moved towards the door, pausing when Alistair didn't follow. "Are you spending the night here with her?"

He startled, his legs immediately leading him towards the door. "Oh, no. No."

"Really?" she laughed. "A double no? Falling hard for our Cousland, are you?"

His eyes widened as he turned to her. "How did you get that out of a no?"

Her smile grew. "Oh Alistair, your awkwardness is rather endearing," she said as she reached for the door.

He stared after her. "Wait, what is that supposed to mean?"

_Women, _he scoffed as he chased after her. Why couldn't they just speak plainly? It was one of the things he dearly appreciated from Aydan.

"Have you thought about your future with her?" Leliana questioned as she shot him a carefully veiled glance.

"Future?" he stumbled. He hadn't even thought beyond tomorrow when they entered the Deep Roads.

"She is a Cousland, Alistair," her laugh was becoming slightly irritating to listen to. Especially when at his behalf.

"And?"

Leliana paused and turned, resting her back against the wall. "Have you thought nothing of what that means?"

"It means she is a Cousland?" he stated plainly.

"It _means_ she is a noble. Are you a noble?"

He knew he wasn't meant to answer that question, but his palms went slick with sweat instantly anyways. "She is a Grey Warden, not a noble," he retorted.

"She will always be a noble. That's what being a noble means. And Grey Warden or not, Aydan has a responsibility to her people of Highever."

"Grey Warden is above and beyond any political ties," he knew _that_ for a fact and prayed for it on a daily basis.

She fed him another smile before she pushed open her own door. Alistair just happened to skirt by, heading towards his own when he glanced back to find Kallian asleep on Leliana's bed, her fingers dangling from the edge of the mattress. Only the sheet covered her, but her bare back spoke volumes.

Leliana slipped behind the door and smiled at him, her face diminishing as she slowly shut the door. "Goodnight Alistair."

"Night," he mumbled.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"Eh," a grunt sounded from her right as that dwarf from the night before marched towards her. "You lot haven't seen any Grey Wardens pass by here, have ya? I've been privy to the rumour that he... or was it she - you understand this was many mugs ago - was searching for Branka on Lord Harrowmont's own command.""

Aydan glanced to Alistair, their lips curving together. "Maybe. What do they look like?"

His gaze traveled up the length of her armor, clearly oblivious to the griffin emblazed across her chest piece. "Like a dozen mugs of ale," he whispered fervently. "Eight feet tall! And farts fire."

Alistair's brow quirked over his eye.

"Well that's a talent I haven't seen yet," Kallian murmured behind them. "Have any of you? Why haven't we seen that?"

"They say a Grey Warden can kill a darkspawn with a single look!" he continued.

With a sigh, Aydan slanted back and crossed her arms over her chest. "I suppose to a dwarf I would look eight feet tall." Even though she was only a foot taller than him. "But I assure you, we do not pass any sort of fire from our rears."

"You?" he rocked back on his heels, laughing brusquely. "I suppose not every story can be true. If you're the best they've got, then standards must have fallen way down."

"Yes, well, very nice way of asking someone for help," she mumbled.

"Eh, how do you know I need help?"

"Don't you all?" her exasperation slipped through her voice.

"Well, word around the piss hole is that you're entering the Deep Roads in search of my wife."

"Your wife?" Aydan repeated.

His chuckle was deep. "Hard to believe a paragon would marry a man like me? The name's Oghren, and if you've ever heard of me before, it's probably all been about how I piss ale and kill little boys who look at me wrong. And it's mostly true, but the part they never say is how I'm the only one still trying to save our only Paragon."

She bit her tongue to stop the retort about to fly past her lips. "So you want me to pass a message to her if I find her?"

"Sod that. I'm coming with."

She paused, her gaze sweeping over her party. "You're what?"

"No one knows Branka like I do. I'll be able to tell you if we're on the right path. I'm the only one who knows what she was looking for, which might be pretty sodding helpful in finding her."

"So why do you need me?" she laughed. "Go find her yourself."

"Eh, you've got the sodding maps, don't ya? I know what Branka wanted and how she was looking. You, I assume, know whatever Harrowmont's men have dug up on where exactly she disappeared."

Unfortunately she did.

"You should know that Branka was looking for the Anvil of the Void, the secret to building golems, which was lost centuries ago."

Of course it was.

"The smith Caridin built it, and with it, Orzammar had a hundred years of peace, while it was protected by the golems forged on the Anvil."

And the real reason behind Harrowmont's true issue in this matter came to light.

"As far as anyone knows, the Anvil was built in the old Ortan Thaig. Branka planned to start looking there, if she could ever find it. All she knew was that it was past Caridin's cross. No one's seen that thaig in over five hundred years."

She eyed the heavy axe slumped over his shoulder. "Can you handle that thing?"

"Better than you."

Laughter erupted throughout the party.

"I guess we'll just have to see about that," Aydan commented as she signalled for him to join the group.

-O-O-O-

"These maps are utterly useless," Aydan sighed as she slumped against the cold rock wall. Her fingers rubbed at her arms, struggling in vain, it seemed, to rid herself of the constant itch under her skin.

"You feel it too, don't you?" Alistair murmured quietly next to her, his own fingers clenched into a tight fist.

"Feel what?"

"Their presence. I've felt it before so I expected it but it's new for you. You can sense the darkspawn down here."

Was that what that was? She'd been wondering if she'd caught something.

"They get under your skin," he spoke darkly. "I can see why we come here to die."

Her jaw snapped up. "What do you mean?"

Alistair groaned and tipped his head back against the rock. "I forgot you didn't know. I'm sorry Aydan, I shouldn't have brought it up like this."

"Brought what up?"

Alistair pushed off the wall and approached their companions. "Let's set up camp."

"Thank the gods," Kallian groaned as she reached for her pack.

When Alistair turned back to her, Aydan's stomach clenched. The look on his face was not pleasant.

"You asked me a while ago what changes about you when you become a Grey Warden."

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips as she recalled their impromptu food fight.

"Well, along with the increased appetite, ability to sense darkspawn, and our ever so fun nightmares, there's also the fact that our lives have been shortened."

Her frown darkened her face. "I don't understand."

"No one survives the taint, Aydan. It's simply a matter of when it takes you. Most fall immediately, their bodies unable to fight off the disease. But there are those of us who mould it to benefit ourselves. But even then it's only temporary. A Grey Warden knows when their time comes, our dreams tell us. And they come here," he murmured. "To take out as many of the blighted creatures as possible before we-"

"Die?" she demanded, her lips parted as she absorbed the news. Now that was certainly something not advertised when joining.

"Well..."

"How long?" she hissed, her voice echoing through the cavernous walls.

"It differs for each of us-"

"How long?" she snapped.

"Thirty years?" he questioned.

Her lungs collapsed as she slid down the wall, her legs trembling so fiercely she could hardly stand. That cut her life expectancy in half. Of course that was if she even survived this Blight. Her father had made it to fifty-five. She wouldn't even reach that.

"Are you alright?" he posed. "I know it's a shock. I remember all the thoughts that crossed my mind when I found out."

She gazed down at her fingers, watching as they trembled. "Just give me a moment," she wheezed.

"I really am sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have brought it up like that."

"No," she shook her head. "I needed to be told." Her fingers scoured at her arm pressed against the wall. Her insides felt as though they were burning. "I feel like there are millions of insects crawling around me."

He gave a somber nod. "Eventually you'll learn to tune it out. I suppose that'll be one positive point of this blighted trip down here."

Unable to sit still, she rose, shaking out her limbs, struggling madly against the temptation to simply tear her skin off.

Her steps led her towards the center of camp where a blaze of heat spouted from Daylen's hands, igniting the campfire.

His eyes flashed up to hers and he smiled, indicating to the seat next to him. But she couldn't sit. Her skin was simply crawling.

As she turned back towards Alistair, her steps fell still, her lips parting when a sudden foreign sensation swept through her gut. Her hands clasped over her stomach as her eyes fluttered shut and her jaw tipped up towards the rocky roof above them. There, in the distant echo of her thoughts was a sound beyond any that she had ever heard. So many voices, singing to her, all sounding from behind her. She turned slowly towards it when an eruption of familiar voices rose. So much shouting.

"Aydan!" a sharp voice barely reached her through the barrage of noise in her head.

She'd never heard anything so beautiful, a mournful hymn humming through her. Was this what Alistair had meant by being able to sense the darkspawn? A glimmer of a dragon looming in the darkness took form in her thoughts, those same yellow eyes burning through her.

Her eyes flashed open, the flicker of the firelight illuminating at the end of the corridor what she had been sensing.

Her companions surrounded her, but it was Daylen in the front, water dripping from his hands as he scolded her. Distantly she was aware of his words, berating her from walking into the fire. But that meant nothing compared to the horde staring them down just meters away from the camp.

"They're here," she whispered.

But only Alistair seemed to know what she meant, a slight frown crossing his face as he turned.

"Darkspawn!" she heard him bellow.

The entire camp came to arms, someone's shoulder jarring her painfully in the wall. Shaking her head clear of her muddled thoughts, she managed to draw her blade and rush towards them just as the darkspawn arrived.

A giant shield cast a shadow over her as Alistair dove in front of her in time to block an attack that would have split her open. Growling under her breath, she forced herself to concentrate. She'd faced darkspawn before, this was nothing new.

Skirting around Alistair's shield, she spun around her first attacker and buried her blade through its neck. She lifted her knee into her chest and lashed out, driving the creature into the ground and freeing her blade.

"Down!" she heard someone shout only seconds before she was aware of their will coalescing. Gasping, Aydan ducked in time to avoid a rather large boulder of rock as it streaked through the air and drilled into the chest of an ogre.

She froze, staring up at it. The last time they'd faced one, Alistair had very nearly died. Jaw tight, she propelled herself forwards, her family blade clasped tightly.

"Aydan!" Alistair's voice rang behind her, but she didn't stop. The ogre was the largest threat. It needed to be dealt with first. The only problem was the beast knew she was coming. It kicked up dirt the moment it met her charge, its thunderous steps shaking the earth as it rushed her.

This thing was nearly the entire size of the hall, there was no way around it. Her eyes swept down and with a grin, she dove forwards, sliding between its legs, her face scrunched as she struggled to avoid dirt in her eyes.

Using her momentum, she leapt to her feet and spun in time to slam her blade through its back. The beast gave an incensed roar that shook rubble down from above, pelting her with rocks the size of her hand. It spun, its beady eyes staring down at her. The problem, however, was the fact that her blade still lay lodged in its back. She drew her two daggers from the tops of her boots and slowly backed away.

_Know your enemy_, Fergus' voice trickled through her thoughts. _Learn from your past mistakes_. While it might not have been one of hers, she remembered Alistair's battle with the ogre in the tower. She remembered how it had snatched him from the ground and shattered almost every last bone in his body. And just as the image solidified before her, the beast struck, its putrid hand swiping for her. Cursing, Aydan threw herself backwards, skating across the ground on her rear as she watched it reach for her again. If it managed to get a hold of her, she was done and she knew it.

It rose up and let out another roar, clearly angered by its failed attempts. Aydan pushed to her feet and burst forwards, driving her daggers through the flesh of its knee. She tucked her body as close to the wall as she could, avoiding the weight of the body as the ogre dropped to the ground.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, her fingers wrapped around the family blade and wrenched it free. Before the ogre could stagger back to its feet, she drove the blade through its neck, pinning it to the ground. Darkened blood spread over the ground, inching slowly towards her as she turned to find Leliana and Wynne deal with the final member of the horde.

Aydan let out a pleased sigh as she slowly made her way back to her companions, each as filthy as she was sure she was.

They all seemed to have gotten by without any severe injuries. Daylen was working on Morrigan's arm which dangled a little precariously, but that was one of the joys of having a spirit healer as a member of your party. In a few seconds she would be as good as new, regardless of the sour glare darkening her face.

"Feel better?" Alistair questioned with a tiny smile.

She rolled out her shoulders and slid her blade home. "Actually, yes."

The eternal itch was gone, the song that echoed through her mind having dimmed into a mere memory.

"Next time you sense darkspawn, try not to stumble into the fire," he teased her, shaking his head as he turned back to the camp.

"I'll try my hardest," her words radiated the sarcasm she intended.

All around the bodies of darkspawn littered the soil, their blood seeping through their camp. "I can't imagine anyone really wants to stay here?" she asked.

At the disgusted looks and dismayed sighs, she knew she was right. One by one they turned from her and began to repack their possessions. Aydan pulled the map from her sack once more and studied it. If she was reading it right, they needed to head west. With a nod, she tossed her own pack of her shoulder and led them in that direction, hoping to the Maker she was leading them the right way.

* * *

><p>AN: Hopefully everyone is enjoying! Let me know what you think of the story :) And just a note, there will not be an update tomorrow morning as I have a Halloween party tomorrow night that I will be preparing for tonight. So! The next update will be Saturday afternoon/evening and then we'll get on the regular schedule.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

_And as the black clouds came upon them,_  
><em>They looked on what pride had wrought,<em>  
><em>And despaired.<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

Vaulted ceilings tumbling into ruin, shimmering rock cracked and broken, gaping holes in the thick walls where the darkspawn had tunnelled through, these were the sights that lay before the group as they _finally_ entered Caridin's Cross. There'd been a point back in the narrow paths that Aydan had thought she'd misled them. And the worst thing she could imagine would be getting lost in the Deep Roads.

"Finally," Oghren grumbled as he stalked past Aydan, his fingers caressing against designs etched into the walls. She couldn't imagine what it was he read in them, but he gave a sharp nod before turning and facing the length of the corridor before them. "Branka's been here, we're on the right track."

Relief loosened her shoulders and with a sigh she turned back to her companions, her eyes widening at their state. Daylen sagged listlessly against the wall, his pack dropped between his feet, Leliana had found a lump of rock to seat herself on, her head dropped into her palms. Her eyes swept over the rest of the group, all as tired it seemed as the rest. It was hard to measure time down here with no sun. She couldn't even imagine how long they'd been traveling for beneath the expanse of rubble.

"Alright, make camp," she ordered, the corners of her lips twitching at the resounding sighs that echoed down the corridor.

"I'll take first watch," Alistair offered as he approached her.

Their eyes met for a single moment before she nodded and ducked away, reaching for her own pack.

The crackling of the fire came almost immediately, compliments of two mages capable of working the elements and willing to help. Aydan was rather positive Morrigan was learned in the same magics as them. It was simply her stubbornness that kept her unwilling to help. With her thoughts centering on the witch, she turned to find that once more she had separated herself from the group and made her own camp some hundred meters away.

Her own tent went up rather easily. It was to the point where she was fairly confident she could erect it with her eyes closed. As she stared up at the Cousland emblem stitched into the flaps, her heart dropped. Every night was a pained reminder. But even she could admit it wasn't as bad as it had once been. Now when she looked upon her family heraldry, she was met with sadness and longing instead of rage and anger. Any would suggest that was an improvement.

The silence down there was unnerving. In the distance she could hear rocks sliding to the ground, dropping from the rubble above. And every now and then, she caught strange little noises, almost like hissing, but it faded away before she could investigate it. The Deep Roads was a whole different world than what she was used to. But the strangest was wandering for miles and coming across _nothing_. Only more rock and shale. Beyond the first darkspawn incursion their first night beneath the surface, they'd encountered nothing else. It seemed only a matter of time though.

She disappeared through the flaps of her tent, her brother's bedroll shining like a beacon. So tired, she kicked her pack over to the nearest corner and dropped into it, drawing the covers up to her chin. It certainly wasn't as comfortable as the dwarven beds they'd been gifted with in Orzammar, but right now, she could lie across a bed of rocks and still find sleep. Of course, that was exactly what she was doing.

"Aydan?" a quiet undistinguished voice called from the outside of her tent.

Wiping the exhaustion from her face, she rose up in the bed. The moment she responded, the flaps were drawn open and Alistair hovered in the entrance.

"Oh," he stuttered, his cheeks tingeing pink the moment he saw her stretched out in bed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know... I'll just..."

"Alistair," she chuckled quietly. "Just come in."

Quiet snores lifted around the camp. It seemed everyone else had managed to drift off immediately. And had it not been for Alistair, she was confident she would have as well.

"Honestly," he pressed. "It can wait, I'll just..."

Her eyes darted to his hands, held formally behind his back. His shoulders were held too rigidly as though for some reason he feared her. A shadow crossed her face as she pushed the blankets back.

"Alistair, just come in," she said in a gentler tone, confused as to why his eyes were darting around the tent.

Resigning, he nodded and stepped lightly into her tent. But he held silent.

Her chuckle was light as she swept her legs over the edge of the bedroll and tapped the covers next to her. Only he didn't take the offered seat.

"Alistair, what is it?" she questioned.

"Please don't be angry," he started.

"Angry?" she repeated, her eyes narrowing as confusion spiralled through her.

"I have something for you," he stated. "And I just... don't want you to be angry with me for taking it. I just couldn't leave it there."

She shook her head, her dark locks spilling across her back. "Leave what where?"

It was then she realized he was holding something behind his back.

"I've been holding onto this for the right moment and I think maybe it's time."

Tiring of the secrecy, she sighed and rose from the bed. "Time for what?"

Her breath caught in her throat the moment he brought his hands around, a black leather tome practically shining in his hands. The last time she'd seen it, it'd been shrouded in ash. Her back tightened as she remembered the last words she had read from the tome. Her first instinct was anger but before the heated words could free themselves from her lips, her eyes jumped to his face, reading the vulnerability streaking across his eyes. With clenched fists, she swallowed back the ire and forced herself to look at it objectively. Of course, idea and reality were always slightly different. When he offered it to her, she shrunk away, recoiling as though slapped. That tome had haunted her for her entire life with curiosity, but the last words she read had done more damage than Howe ever could.

"I know it hurts," he murmured, slowly closing the distance between her. "But I also know that with time, you'll appreciate having this. When I saw it abandoned. I couldn't just leave it there."

"Thank you," she said, trying to mean it, but the harsh words gave her true feelings away.

"You're angry," he commented.

Her brow narrowed. Angry wasn't the right word. In fact, she couldn't understand the emotions tumbling around her. All she knew was she didn't want to touch it. He presented it again, his patience unsettling as he stood there waiting for her to take it. Her fingers burned with the idea.

A curtain of hair slid over her face as she turned away from it. The moment it was gone from her sight she found it easier to breath.

"I once had an amulet," he suddenly stated. "A silver emblem of Andraste's Flame."

The softness with which he spoke brought her gaze back around to him. In the shadows of her tent, his jaw seemed more defined.

"It had belonged to my mother," he continued.

Her eyes leapt to his in time to catch a flash of his own pain.

"It was the only thing I owned of hers. When I learned that Eamon was sending me to live at the Chantry, I felt betrayed. I was angry. I ripped the blasted necklace from my neck and threw it at the wall, shattering it. It was the stupidest thing I could have ever done, and I've done plenty of stupid things."

Her lips _almost_ curved with a smile at that confession.

"More times than I can count, I have thought on that amulet and wished I still had it. It was the only possession I owned from family."

Her gaze swept back over the tome, her stomach clenching as she debated reaching for it.

"I don't want that for you Aydan," he continued, his voice darkening as he closed the distance between them. "I lost Duncan and I have nothing at all to remember him by."

"You have his memories," she whispered weakly.

"But is that enough?"

She understood the question. No, it was never enough. Her hands rose from her sides, her fingers retracting as she neared the tome. But with a mollifying breath, they finally closed around the supple leather and she drew it into her chest.

Vaguely she was aware of the bedroll forming beneath her as she lowered back down to the bed. The tips of her fingers traced the Cousland heraldry but she would go no further. There was too much pain inscribed in this book. More than she desired to suffer.

With the sound of retreating footsteps, her jaw shot up and she called his name just as his hands reached for the flaps.

When he turned back towards her, she saw his eyes had welled with his own tears. If she could ever help him, she would, but at this moment there was nothing she could think of.

"I... have something for you as well," she finally said, sliding the tome to her side as she fished in her pack. She'd found it in Aeducan Thaig and for some reason thought of him the moment her fingers had closed around it.

He crossed the length of the tent and finally took the seat she had offered him earlier.

"Here," she murmured, handing him the flat black stone. The glowing silver rune etched into it began to glow from the warmth of his hands.

"What is it?" he asked, the awe evident in his voice.

She fed him a small smile, only a whisper of what she was capable of and shrugged. "I don't know. But it's beautiful."

When their gazes met once more, there was no hint of the pain he'd shared. "And you meant for me to have this?"

Her fingers grazed against the soft flesh of his cheek and she leaned forward until their brows touched. It was an embrace her brother and she had done more than once growing up, a way of showing affection for one another with the least amount of touching. Yet, with Alistair, it meant so much more. Her eyes fluttered shut as she relished in the heat sweeping through her stomach, ridding it of the putrid darkness that had delved into the lowest depths. She could feel the warmth of his breath splayed across her nose and smell the sweet scent of his skin. He shifted against her, her heart leaping into her throat the moment his mouth sealed over hers. She'd barely had a chance to curve into him when he suddenly drew away and stood, his shadow looming over her.

"I should go," he announced, avoiding her gaze.

Aydan pushed off the bedroll, but he'd already crossed to the door. "Alistair?"

At the flaps, he turned. There was something hidden in his face, an emotion she couldn't read. But with the stone clutched tightly in his palm, he forced a smile and left her.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

The sensation fluttering through him was terrifying. He'd never felt this way, he'd never even imagined it possible. When submitted to the Chantry, he'd given up any notion he'd ever had of a normal family. From day one he'd always been made aware of the 'mistake' he was. He was nobody, nothing, just an inconvenience. And throughout his entire life, everyone he'd ever met who knew had made sure they thought the same thing. Being stationed at Ostagar, only to see _him_, and watch _him_, had been one of the most challenging moments of his life. To look up at him and see his own face on the body of another but to know it meant _nothing_ to them was beyond any pain he'd ever suffered. Not even Eamon had wanted him. The moment he'd become a threat to his own happy little family, off he was packed, an orphan meant to live with other orphans. The stables might not have been the kindest life for him, but it had been more welcoming than the hard cold floor he'd shared with dozens of other boys. There'd be no happiness within the Chantry.

But with her, he felt a semblance of something human. No, it was more than that. When she touched him, he felt _alive_ for the first time in a very long time. He'd felt a fraction of it once with Duncan, but even then, the Maker had stolen him away.

The moment she'd caressed his cheek and he'd watched her eyes flutter shut, he'd been unable to resist the draw to her. But he'd never imagined it possible to feel what he had the moment he'd kissed her. The stone she had given him had warmed his palm, but it was the sweeping sensation over his heart that gave him chills. He'd looked at her and he fell, horribly. The fear that followed had been stifling. In the fade, he'd felt safe and wanted. But with reality came the realization of what falling in love meant. He couldn't do this. She had no idea who he was and when she learned he was a Theirin, the last remaining, the bastard son of Maric, she'd leave. They always did. After Eamon, he'd sworn to himself never to let it happen again. And he'd let himself down. He'd allowed himself to grow close to Duncan and look where it got him. No, he could not do this again. He _wouldn't_.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

The fire had dimmed severely since when she first started watch. She'd woken to Alistair's voice, what she could only imagine, were a few hours ago, distant and cold as he informed her from beyond her tent flaps that he was retiring. She'd yanked her leathers on in a hurry, hoping to speak with him about earlier. But when she exited the tent, he'd already vanished into his. She could have gone to him, but there was a tiny nagging fear that held her back. So instead she'd pulled up a flat rock and sat before the fire, her thoughts stretching in every direction.

Tired of analyzing what she possibly could have done wrong, her eyes landed on the tome. For some reason, she had opted to bring it out of her tent. With a sigh, she reached for it and placed it heavily in her lap. The sane part of her brain was scolding her, ordering her to put it away and never look at it again. But for some reason, tonight, she was feeling oddly sentimental. And she opened the cover before she could convince herself otherwise.

A sad smile curved her lips as she gazed down upon the portraits. The morning she'd left this in the ash, she'd bid it good riddance and turned it from her thoughts. There'd been a few moments throughout their travels where she'd wondered of it, but never had she even thought it'd been packed away in Alistair's sack. He was right though, no matter how much her heart screamed against it, he was right. It was better to have something to remember them by. Something that proved these people who meant so much to her had lived. They were gone now, but she remained, and their memories would always remain with her. With that thought, her grief shifted into a new emotion and settled into her stomach. Her family might be gone but she was still here.

"So a Cousland, hey?" a quiet, sleepy voice roused her from her thoughts.

She flicked a glance over to find Daylen exiting his own tent.

A forced smile crossed her lips. "You found me out."

"Well, I had to admit it was a challenge," he teased.

She hummed a nonverbal response. "I suppose the Cousland heraldry on my weapons and the emblem stitched into my tent weren't indication enough?"

"I take it from the way you're cradling that tome, a story lies in there."

She shook her head. "No, just my brother's journal."

"I didn't mean the tome itself, Aydan," he sighed. "I meant there must be a story behind why you're hiding your name. Or why you're sitting here in front of the fire trying your darnedest not to cry."

"Am not," she mumbled as she swiped at her cheeks.

His laughter was calming as she pulled up the rock next to her.

"You know, I don't have any family. All I know is that my family name originates in Kirkwall. The templars told me once that I was given over to the circle without even a second thought, my mother happy to rid herself of me as I brought shame to the family name. Now, whether or not that's true, I unfortunately don't know. The templars love to say anything to get a rise out of us mages with the hope of angering us."

"So you've never met your parents?" she asked quietly.

"Not in any memories that I have."

"I loved my family dearly," she murmured, her fingers trailing over the hardened lines of her father's face.

"Past tense," he stated. "That's never good."

Farkas gave a low whine at her side, his head resting on her knee with those sad eyes looking up at her. She curled her fingers into his thick fur. "We'll have our justice, Farkas," she murmured to him. "Don't fear."

A warm hand fell upon her arm and she glanced over to find Daylen gazing at her softly. "I'll help you, you know," he told her. "With whatever you need. I will be there."

The only problem was, he wasn't the man she wanted that level of devotion from. Regardless, her hand fell atop his with a soft smile, her quiet words thanking him.

A foreign sound of behind her drew her gaze back over her shoulder. There in the darkness of his tent, stood Alistair, his usually warm eyes hardened as they fell upon the two of them seated closely by the fire.

"Alistair," she murmured affectionately as she rose from the rock.

"We should get moving," he told her, stalking from his tent to start waking the other companions.

Aydan stood in the center of the camp, staring after him, the heat at her back as Daylen hovered over her a little distracting.

* * *

><p>AN: Alright, as promised, we are now back on schedule :D As you all know, I've been trying to make this story a tad more realistic in some areas. One of those was Alistair. I absolutely adore his character, however, for someone with trust issues, he never really showed it. Just madly falls in love with you the moment you turn on the charm haha. Which is fine, but while our dear little Cousland has some demons to work out of her own, so does Alistair. So enjoy!


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

_Nothing so great may be achieved without sacrifice. Nor may stone and steel walk without a spirit to animate them._

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"This isn't right," Aydan murmured under her breath.

"So you keep saying," Wynne chimed. "Personally, one would assume the scarcity of darkspawn would be inspiring."

With a put-upon sigh, Aydan spun on her heel. The woman's comments had been infuriating to listen to, to say the least. "And where do you think the darkspawn have gone, if not down here?" she demanded as her hands rested against the small swell of her hips. "They say the Deep Roads are the safest during a Blight. Perhaps one should think of _that_."

"Ladies," Kallian interjected. "Aydan, I'm almost positive we will stumble across some more darkspawn for you to kill shortly. Wynne, stop poking at the dear Grey Warden."

The problem wasn't that she was looking for a fight, it was the absence of darkspawn in general. She'd heard so many legends about the Deep Roads, it seemed worrisome that they could travel so safely.

"You brought us safely to Ortan Thaig," Leliana whispered next to her, clearly hoping to avoid another outburst. "There is nothing wrong with that. Perhaps we will find this Branka and return before the day is out."

Yet, Aydan just _knew_ that was not meant to happen. She couldn't decipher if it was her woman's intuition burning in the pit of her stomach of her ability to sense darkspawn. But either way, every step they took searching for Branka, it grew stronger.

"We should continue," Sten's deep voice echoed off the walls.

Nodding, she signalled forward and took the lead, alert to any sounds that might suggest an attack. Every new corridor they traversed, the walls seemed riddled with new symbols adorning the pillars. Oghren's interpretations suggested they still continued on the right track.

She took another step, approaching a crook within the road that took a sudden turn. How she loathed those abrupt corners. Maker knew what lie on the other side.

She waved her companions back, a strange thrum in her gut rousing her suspicions. Her fingers clicked together and she waited as Farkas approached her side. The two locked eyes and she pointed at the corner. Immediately the mabari dropped down onto his stomach, his nose planted firmly against the rock ground. She watched as he crept across, his head barely poking across the corner. Each time they'd done this, she'd been rewarded with a happy flick of his stubby tail moments before he leapt to his feet and announced with a pleased bark the way was clear. This time he crept back and rose slowly, his head hung low as a low growl seeped from his chest.

"Ah, it seems we've found our darkspawn," Daylen murmured at her left. Her eyes flicked to him, a slight frown curving her face. That had always been Alistair's spot, by her side through the thick and thin. Now, a sweeping glance revealed his presence at the back of the group. But when she saw him standing next to Morrigan of all people, her jaw dropped. The witch merely gave a lithe shrug before turning her attention back to whatever she found so appealing in her boots. Alistair's gaze on the other hand seemed fastened onto the hilt of his blade, as though he had found something mildly interesting in it.

"Something going on with you and Mr. Perfect?" Daylen questioned.

Ignoring the jibe, Aydan's hands drifted to her own blades as she pushed off the wall and stood before the line of companions pressed against the crumbling wall.

"This is the only path I see on my maps and it seems we've finally found our darkspawn. We have no way of knowing what lies beyond but to find out, we're going to have to clear a path."

Upon her words, the entire group took up arms and prepared themselves. Aydan gave a sharp nod and drew her own before leading them around the corner.

At first the contingent didn't seem overly large. Alistair and Aydan had faced far greater numbers within the Tower of Ishal. But it seemed with that thought, the ogre that stood before them threw its head back and let out a roar so thunderous it shook rubble down from the ceiling above. And as though that was the sign, darkspawn from every direction began flooding towards them.

"Maker," Daylen whispered next to her as he suddenly released a windstorm of ice and hail on the largest portion of the horde and Kallian's arrows took two in the chest, cleaving their weak leather armor in half.

Hoping to inspire her companions, Aydan thrust the Cousland sword into the air a moment before charging towards the oncoming group.

Her blade met the belly of the first. The moment it fell, her feet pulled her into a tight spin as her blade lay open the throat of the next. Distantly she was aware of her companions surrounding her, battling with their own opponents. Magic swirled over her head, blades clashed, and under it all she heard the grunts of her friends as they attacked. She danced circles around the beasts, the remains growing larger as she moved amongst them.

A hiss escaped her lips the moment she felt a poisoned blade slash against her arm. She'd barely been given a moment to turn when she felt two large hands ram into her back. Someone had shouted her name, but she was lost to the noise the moment she sprawled against the ground, the flesh of her cheek splitting. Rubble exploded everywhere as the ground shook from the strength. She flipped over in time to see Daylen crumple beneath a large boulder, having shoved her out of the way. Fear lay thick on her tongue the moment she caught the blossom of blood pooling under the back of his head.

She meant to rise, order Wynne to heal him, anything to attract attention to him. And she would have, if not for a sudden flare of pain pinning through her chest. Her gasp seemed deafening to her own ears as her eyes swept down to the large blade very nearly severing her arm. The sword, it seemed, had found its way through the weakest spot of her armor.

The darkspawn looming over her leered, its lips peeling away in a sickening grin as it twisted the blade. A sharp scream ripped from her throat. With tears coursing her cheeks, she snapped her leg out, the heavy plated heel drilling into the side of the darkspawn's knee. A crack settled over her as it fell, its shrieks echoing with her own.

Panic clawed through her as she tried to grasp the hilt and jerk the blade out to no avail. Effectively pinned to the stone, she reached into her boot and drew the dagger. The darkspawn crawled atop her chest, its putrid stench assaulting her nose. The moment its rotted fingers reached into her armor, she jerked it towards her and drew a line across its throat. Its eyes went wide, the decayed lips gaping, as blood suddenly washed over her. Having tasted darkspawn blood before, she knew what to expect. But the moment it swelled over her lips, her stomach contracted painfully. Her neck strained with the effort to turn away as her hands shoved the pitiful creature off her body.

A low growl came from the shadows next to her. She strained for a glimpse, wondering what little beasty was hovering in the darkness, hoping for a taste. The moment the emissary stepped into the light, she tasted a fresh wave of fear. She tried to call the energy into herself, _knew_ she had to neutralize its magic, but the taste of panic smothered her concentration. It lifted its staff, its lips splitting into a sickening grin. A flicker of light formed behind the creature, the face of a familiar man gazing tenderly down on her. She would know those steely blue eyes anywhere.

"Father," she whispered. It seemed this time, he had come for her.

She heard a howl in the near distance and the thrum of feet pounding against the ground. Both the emissary and Aydan turned towards the sound and she watched helplessly as Farkas leapt through the air, his fangs flashing as they clamped around the darkspawn's throat. The two tumbled into the shadows, the sounds of their battle lost to the darkness.

She struggled against the hold of the blade, determined to get to Farkas. Unable to reach the hilt, she pressed her flat palms against either side of the blade and pulled. Her vision blackened with a fresh assault of agony burning through her chest. But the clang of the blade against the stone eased the racing of her heart, if only a little. When her gaze shot to the shadows, her father was gone and she heard no sound of Farkas.

"Farkas," she whispered. There was no happy panting, no sound of his paws clicking against the stone, nothing. She turned towards her companions. If Farkas needed help, she'd get it. Staggering to her feet, she stumbled into the nearest wall. It seemed her companions had fared well enough. Alistair stood gloriously over the body of the ogre, his eyes sweeping across the group, searching for something. She was far enough away not to hear his voice, but when her companions straightened and began to turn about in circles, she had a feeling they were looking for her.

Leliana's voice was the first she heard as the young woman rushed towards Daylen, her fingers coming away stained. At least they had found him beneath the pile of darkspawn and rubble. She forced herself to make her way towards them, but her legs lacked the strength as blood gushed over her chest. Her vision swayed as she watched Alistair argue with Wynne. The woman appeared distraught as her head dropped forward.

"Lyrium," she heard.

"Aydan!" she heard Alistair shout as he spun in tight circles searching for her.

How she had managed to stray so far from her group, she couldn't remember. She stumbled over the corpse of one darkspawn and another, before she collapsed, her knees slamming into the stone.

"Alistair," she rasped, her voice lacking any volume as she called to him.

Yet it seemed enough. He turned, those blighted eyes pinning through her as effectively as the sword. His lips moved but she heard no sound. The stone rushed towards her but she never felt herself fall.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

He couldn't help the satisfied grin that curved his lips the moment the ogre fell. There was something oddly comforting after the last run-in he'd had with one. The sounds of battle had dwindled away until all that remained were his companions. As he turned, he counted. Three missing. And when he realized one was Aydan, his heart contracted.

"Aydan?" he beckoned, swallowing his fear when there was no response.

Leliana and Kallian stood side by side as Leliana inspected a slight wound on Kallian's arm, it didn't appear serious. Sten hovered protectively over Morrigan who sagged against her stave, but otherwise both were unharmed. Oghren was seated amongst the corpses as he tossed back a flask, his grubby hand leaving a streak of dirt across his lips. Wynne staggered towards him, her shoulders drooping miserably with every step. She seemed absolutely drained, which was odd when they had three mages. Except Daylen was one of the missing.

It was Leliana's shout that drew his gaze to a pile of rubble and blood. She dropped to her knees and pushed the debris aside, exposing the other mage.

"Wynne!" Alistair shouted, pointing towards him. From the amounts of blood reaching across the stone, he knew the mage needed healing desperately. But there was no swirl of magic, no pressure forming in his head. When his gaze snapped to her, he found the elder mage standing dejectedly among her own pile of corpses, her head hung in shame.

"I'm drained," she admitted. "I need lyrium."

Her words inspired a new level of fear in him that he had never felt before. With one mage unconscious and the only other capable of healing drained... he let the thought go.

"Aydan!" he barked again. She had to be alright. She was the most talented warrior he'd ever met. And where was Farkas? Why wasn't he helping them search for her?

"Alistair," it was like a whisper in his head, yet he turned towards the noise.

There in the distance, somehow, crouched Aydan. So much blood stained her armor, he didn't know if it was hers. But the moment their eyes met, she fell.

"Aydan!" he shouted as he tore towards her, leaping over corpses and rubble along the way. He dropped to his knees, sliding towards her, dust billowing around him. He reached for her, his hands gripping her shoulders as he dragged her over his legs. It was hard to ignore the sick sensation of her arm flopping unnaturally into his lap. His fingers worked at the latches, tearing her armor off so he could see the wound. Her skin was slick with blood, all streaming from a gaping wound in her chest, right next to her shoulder.

"Leliana, my pack!" he barked back to her. There had to be something in there that would help. Anything to close the flesh and stop her from bleeding out.

It appeared next to his side seconds later.

"Maker," Leliana breathed.

"Will she be alright?" Kallian mumbled.

Alistair didn't answer. Instead, he dove into his pack and started tearing things out searching for a poultice, anything that would be of assistance. But there was nothing. A frustrated cry slipped past his lips. He did the only thing he could think of. He dragged out one of his shirt and pressed it against the wound. The only encouragement he gained was the soft, pained moan that fell from her lips.

He flicked a glance up to Leliana's pale face. "We need to do something, we can't just sit here."

"Oh," a soft gasp fell from her lips as she turned and bolted.

His eyes tracked her, hope spurning through the pit of his stomach. The last time she'd done that, she'd come back with elfroot. It seemed unlikely she'd find any down here, but the hope kept his fear at bay.

A soft whine punctured the shadows. Both Kallian and Alistair turned towards it. He knew the sound, knew it was Farkas.

"Sten," he called, signalling with a jut of his jaw towards the shadows.

With a sharp nod, the man vanished into the thick of shadows. He could hear soft murmurs moments before Sten returned, the large mabari cradled in the warrior's arms. Alistair's eyes landed on the gash that lay open the hounds side.

"Wynne!" Leliana's voice shouted as she streaked back towards Aydan. Alistair's gaze narrowed on her. Her palms lay open as she ran awkwardly, some sort of dust shimmering from her hands.

The elder mage stumbled after her, her fingers white with tension as she clutched her stave. Leliana offered the dust to her, palms up.

"What is that?" Wynne demanded.

"Lyrium dust," Leliana stated proudly. "It won't be as effective as a potion but it'll work."

"But which one?" Wynne asked, her eyes dancing between Daylen and Aydan.

"Daylen-", "Aydan-" both Leliana and Alistair stated at the same time.

Alistair's eyes shot to the young rogue who cast him a sympathetic look. "Daylen might have some magic left to fully heal her. Wynne only has enough for one. If she heals Daylen, he can heal Aydan."

A growl rumbled from his chest. "That's _if_ Daylen has any left. You're asking me to bet her life on that."

"It's a chance to save both, Alistair," she murmured. "Not just one."

His eyes cast down on Aydan as he listened to the sound of Wynne inhaling the dust. "Do it."

With a wave of magic came a low groan from the rubble behind them. Kallian and Leliana had already appeared at Daylen's side and helped him to his feet, leading him over to Alistair. But he couldn't tear his eyes off Aydan. A flicker of a memory very similar assaulted him, only it was Flemeth and Morrigan surrounding her. He cast a silent prayer to the Maker that Daylen had the energy to heal her.

"Aydan," his gravelly voice came as he was lowered gently next to her.

Alistair lifted his gaze from her to watch the mage. Such tenderness softened his face and there was a light to his eyes that Alistair recognized dearly. It seemed another had fallen under her spell. His blood curdled at the thought of another man caring for her, only confusing him further. Last night, when he'd left her tent, he'd believed it was the right choice. But when he found them seated together at the fire, her hand gently draped over his, he'd never felt such jealousy before his life. And now, as he watched Daylen gaze lovingly down on her, his fingers hovering over the hole in her shoulder, it was only the notion that this man was the only one that could save her that stopped him from knocking out a few of his teeth.

"Can you heal her?" Alistair demanded.

The mage's eyes shot to his, as though he'd forgotten he was there. Daylen held silent, but the magic coalescing around him spoke volumes. Alistair was the first to break their stare. He flicked his gaze back down on the woman in his arms, relief loosening his shoulders as her skin began to stitch back together.

"There's muscle damage," Daylen muttered softly as his fingers probed the fleshly closed wound. "And much blood loss. We need to make camp. This will take more than one spell to fix."

Alistair gave a sharp nod and pointed out a well veiled location back in the direction they had come. Leliana, Morrigan, and Kallian headed off towards it, with Oghren in tow. Daylen rose to his feet, swaying slightly. He approached Farkas and laid his hands on the hound, his lips moving silently as another spell washed over the mabari.

When he stepped away, Alistair saw the gash had closed. With a sharp jerk of his jaw, Sten began towards the camp, the hound still draped from his arms. For someone who had shown an immediate dislike to dogs, the qunari seemed rather attached to this one.

Alistair rose then, with Aydan in his arms, and led the two other mages towards camp. As he watched her, he realized he was unable to simply turn his feelings off. Once again, he'd let himself down.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

She awoke to the feel of something warm rising and falling beneath her. For a moment, there was confusion, but eventually she picked up on a familiar scent. Sten would have qualified it as wet dog, but to her it was just the scent of mabari. Her fingers closed around the large paw settled into the palm of her hand. He'd saved her life, she remembered that. Someone was getting some crunchy treats whenever they returned to the surface.

She also remembered the flicker of her father's face. There'd been a time where she had longed desperately to see him again, even if in death. But this time, she'd been frightened. The idea of leaving everything behind no longer appealed to her. It seemed she had two things to be thankful for.

Her eyes fluttered open to find herself tucked into the corner of her cot, sharing it unequally with Farkas. He'd always been a bit of a bed hog. Some things, it seemed, didn't change. What was different, however, was the dark haired mage seated next to her cot. She tried not to let the disappointment show that it wasn't Alistair.

"Good to see you awake," Daylen smiled at her.

She returned the gesture as she rose up from the swell of her mabari's chest. Almost instantly, Daylen rose from his seat, his hands gently guiding her back down to the bedroll.

"Just give me a moment to inspect the wound," he told her.

She fell back against Farkas, wincing the moment Daylen's fingers probed her shoulder, rotating it and stretched it out. She tried to keep her cries quiet, but soon she was practically squirming under his touch, and most certainly not in a good way.

"Just a little more," he whispered, his face crumpling every time she cried out.

He lowered down onto her bedroll, but it seemed he no longer cared about the wound as his eyes brushed over her face.

"Always my sword arm," she sighed helplessly.

He hummed a response, his fingers hovering above the other scar just above her chest. "What did this?"

"Darkspawn," she murmured, her breath hitching in her throat the moment he grazed the scar. From the flash of his eyes, she knew he heard it. Her cheeks enflamed. "Arrows," she continued, hoping to detract him from her war wounds.

"Poisoned?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. I wasn't exactly conscious for the healing process. Why?"

"When we heal, it's very rare for scars to remain. I've only ever found poison to leave permanent marks."

Her shoulders lifted in a short shrug. At least that movement hadn't hurt. "Does that mean no scar this time?"

His lips parted into a gentle smile. "No scar this time."

"Thank the Maker for small blessings," she grinned.

"The Maker? What about me?" his words were deep and threatening, but she saw the playful curve to his lips. "Everyone always thanks the Maker. Never the mage who actually did the work."

"Thank you Daylen," she submitted.

He hovered over her, his fingers still pressed above her scar. The moment his gaze flicked down to her lips, she stiffened beneath him. He let slip a sigh as he backed away.

"It's because of _him_, isn't it?"

A frown darkened her face. "What is?"

"You won't let me in," he told her. Her fingers clenched at her sides. She really did not want to have this discussion with him. "And it's because of him."

She didn't know what to say. "Daylen, we're friends," she told him, her heart wrenching at the pained expression twisting his face.

"Maybe I want more than that," he admitted.

She fell silent, her teeth gnashing down on her lower lip.

"Aydan, I love-"

The sudden flutter of the tent flaps halted his words. Aydan let out a relieved sigh the moment he turned away from her. She tipped her head back against the stuffed pack beneath her head, unable to look past Daylen to see who'd come.

"How is she?" that musical voice came.

Without a thought, she pushed up from the bedroll, a true smile curving across her lips.

Daylen's attention turned back down on her, his frown only deepening at her reaction. "I'll just leave you two be," he grumbled as he rose from the bed and stalked sourly from the tent.

The two stared at each other. Little nerves wormed through her stomach when he didn't cross the tent to come to her.

"Alistair?" she questioned, struggling to find her way up without disturbing Farkas.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright," he told her.

After a few moments of wriggling, she managed to extricate herself from the lump that was Farkas. The hound gave a lazy sigh as he gazed up at her before allowing his eyes to drift shut once more.

"Good to go," she beamed, her grin faltering at his lack of emotion.

"Good," he acknowledged before his fingers delved through the flaps once more. "I should check on Wynne."

"Alright," she hedged, calling him back the moment he was about to vanish from her sight. "If there's something you need to talk about, you know I'll listen right?" Since last night, she'd known something was wrong. He'd been so distant and almost... unhappy it seemed. This was not the Alistair she was used to. He fed her a crooked, fake smile before sliding out of the tent.

* * *

><p>AN: This chapter was actually quite difficult to write, for reasons I still can't figure out haha. But hopefully everyone still enjoys it. Let me know what you think :D


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

_"In Darkness eternal they searched, _  
><em>For those who had goaded them on, <em>  
><em>Until at last they found their prize, <em>  
><em>Their god, their betrayer: <em>  
><em>The sleeping dragon Dumat. Their taint <em>  
><em>Twisted even the false-god, and the whisperer <em>  
><em>Awoke at last, in pain and horror, and led <em>  
><em>Them to wreak havoc upon all the nations of the world: <em>  
><em>The first Blight."<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

It was the same creature from her dreams, it had to be. Rock crumbled under her fingers as she leaned precariously over the edge, hoping for a closer view even though the thing was monstrous. Its wings stretched across the entire width of the chasm, casting the writhing darkspawn beneath it in shadow. The dragon's head rose from the darkness and with the parting of its lips, fire spewed forth. It was only the large hand gripping the collar of her armor and yanking her away from the edge that saved her from the wall of heat rushing towards her. Sten's lavender eyes gleamed down at her, his lips pressed into a grim line.

"The archdemon," tumbled from her lips in reverence.

"Come on," Alistair said as he tugged on her arm, drawing her to her feet. "We need to keep moving."

The distinct sound of war drew her attention over to another crumbling bridge, spanning the distance of the abyss hovering under their feet. A crowd of dwarves had been swarmed by a horde of darkspawn, attempting to drive them off.

Aydan clutched at her blade and rushed forward, arriving in time to help with the last few remaining stragglers. Whoever these dwarves were, they clearly were no stranger to battle. As they sheathed their blades, the small crowd seemed to part like a sea and the obvious leader strode forth, his fingers detaching the clasps of his helmet as he slipped it under his arm.

"Grey Wardens," his voice came, deep and gravelly. Dark ink shadowed his skin, his long beard plaited neatly.

"You know who we are?" Aydan asked.

"Very few brave the Deep Roads. Other than the Legion, the Grey Wardens are the only I've ever seen beyond those condemned to forever walk the roads until taken to the stone. Why are you here?"

"We've come in search of a Paragon, one named Branka."

His chuckle slid over her skin. "A fool's errand if I've ever heard one."

"Yes," she agreed. "That does seem to be the general consensus."

"Why would you come searching for a Paragon?" a lighter voice questioned.

Once more the dwarves parted to expose a female warrior, a touch slighter in stature than typical, with flaming red hair and emerald eyes.

"The stone take me," Oghren grumbled loudly as he shoved past Aydan for a better look. "Lady Aeducan, is that you?"

"Oghren," she acknowledged him with a stout nod.

"Ancestors tits woman! I never thought I'd lay eyes upon you again!"

This Lady Aeducan allowed for her gaze to trail over the length of Oghren before she turned back to Aydan. "I asked a question."

"Maker," she chuckled. "Where to start?"

"The beginning perhaps," the dwarf stated emotionlessly as those jeweled eyes watched her.

"Lord Harrowmont requires the word of a Paragon to settle his claim to the throne. In order to guarantee us men on the surface to battle the oncoming Blight, I was told to seek out this Paragon. When he takes the throne, I will have my men."

"Bah, politics," the leader spat before turning away and addressing his men.

"Lord Harrowmont?" her voice was barely more than a whisper. "Lord Harrowmont wishes to take the throne? From whom?"

"Prince Bhelen," Aydan stated.

"Bhelen?" she exclaimed, her hurried steps closing the distance between them. "That can only mean one thing."

Aydan shared a glance with Alistair, both of which seemed a little lost.

Oghren sighed and turned his gaze up to Aydan. "And they said you were smart. Lady _Aeducan_, Warden. Bhelen _Aeducan_. Do you see the connection now?"

"Oh," Aydan nodded. "Bhelen would be your…?"

"Brother," she growled. "Or he was once, before his treachery landed me forever condemned to the Deep Roads. And if Bhelen is arguing with the assembly, fighting with Harrowmont for the throne, that can only mean my father has died."

"Aye," Oghren said sadly. "Not long after you were exiled. The king fell into a grief none could break from him. Harrowmont tried his damndest, but he believes the king died from regret."

Her face crumpled with the news, her fingers tightening on the blade. "And now the assembly is choosing its new leader and it is between Harrowmont and my brother. And you have come on behest of Harrowmont?"

Aydan merely nodded, slowly patching everything together as she listened. "Harrowmont seemed the wiser choice of the two."

"He would be," she agreed. "He possesses honor, something my dear brother claimed but does not."

Aydan slanted onto her back leg, her arms crossing over her chest as her eyes ran over the dwarf that stood before her. One of the things Aydan had always prided herself on was her ability to read people. It was what allowed her to see the evil, for lack of a better word, in Bhelen the first moment she laid eyes upon him. Harrowmont, on the other hand, seemed to lack the strength to lead his people properly. But here stood another option, a third, an exiled princess who obviously possessed strength and skill, as she battled the darkspawn, but the intelligence to recognize that her own brother was the worst choice for the throne.

"While my brother understands the politics of dwarven culture exceptionally well, he lacks the kindness a true ruler must possess. I learned that from my brother Trian. Firm when necessary, but merciful as well."

"You never needed Trian to teach you that," Oghren spoke up. "The reason you're here is because both brothers feared your reverence among the assembly."

Aydan's smile grew as she listened, her gaze sliding to Alistair's. Both had agreed that neither option was fitting. But listening to Oghren speak of this woman, his usual gruff language diminishing in her presence, Aydan was quite positive they had just found their third and best option.

"It matters not why I'm here," she spoke directly to Oghren. "My name has been ripped from the histories. I am Aeducan no longer."

With a slight shrug, Aydan pushed off her back leg and circled the dwarf. "What exactly happened to exile you here?"

The dwarf turned with her, her bright eyes tracking Aydan's every step. "My brother Bhelen tried to convince me that Trian was plotting to assassinate me. His jealousy, my brother proclaimed, blinded him to honor. I refused to listen. Trian might not have been the nicest brother, but he _was_ honorable. Bhelen, seeing that I was incorruptible, had our eldest murdered and framed me for it. The assembly found me guilty without even an opportunity to defend myself. I was immediately cast into this pit. It is only because of the Legion that I managed to survive. I joined them with the hope of doing some good before I passed to the stone."

"And if a Paragon were to speak for you?" she pressed.

Both Oghren's and Lady Aeducan's jaws gaped.

"For me?" she stuttered. "I am no longer an Aeducan, thanks to my brother. No Paragon would ever speak for me."

Aydan's smile softened. "I say we leave that up to the Paragon, whenever we find her."

"And if you don't?" Lady Aeducan questioned.

But Aydan could see the intrigue lighting behind her eyes. "If not, I am sure we could find some evidence to bring to light proving your brother as the assassin and not you."

She shook her head, her filthy locks calcified in blood and refuse tumbling over her shoulders. "Too many are frightened of my brother. He had already threatened those that traveled with me, forced them to lie directly to my father and proclaim me the murderer."

"Then it is those men we force to come to light."

"My brother would never allow it."

"Your brother won't know until it's too late."

The dwarf's eyes swept over her, tears brimming within them as she listened. "Why would you do this for me? You don't even know me."

"I need a competent ruler on the dwarven throne. I need someone who understands the threat of the Blight. Your nobles are too entrenched in diplomacy and their own deceit to look beyond their own troubles. But you, you have fought down here, you understand what these creatures are capable of. And I've heard from Oghren's mouth how much the assembly and the people loved you. I've been looking for a ruler for the dwarves and it seems I have finally found her."

Aydan saw the woman caving under the idea of returning to her home.

"But what of the Legion?" she murmured. "I cannot simply leave them. They need all the help they can get."

"And what greater help could they receive than someone seated upon the throne who understands that?"

She turned towards Kardol who had been listening quietly.

"You are not like the rest of us," he spoke directly to her. "You were never given a formal funeral rite, no paint darkens your flesh, and you have never given up everything you had. We accepted your help because we desperately needed it, but you are not a part of the Legion. If you wish to leave, you need only look to yourself for the answer. You will find no prison here."

The two dwarves fell silent for a moment before Lady Aeducan bowed deeply to Kardol. "May you find the stone," she whispered to him.

When she turned back to Aydan, a confident smile tugged at her lips. "Let's make my brother regret the day he chose to murder my Trian."

"Works for me. My name is Aydan," she stated as she held out her hand.

The dwarf's petite fingers closed around hers as she gave it a shake. "Sereda."

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

_"First day they come and catch everyone."_

The words were chilling as they echoed throughout the corridor. From where, he had no idea, but he was aware of the tightening of his group as they all listened to the words.

_"Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat."_

The hushed whisper seemed to grow louder as though the woman heard their approach.

_"Third day, the men are all gnawed on again._

_Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate."_

Icy fingers laced through his. His eyes flicked down to his side to find Aydan's hand entwined with his. While part of him knew it was best to extricate himself from her and place distance between them, at least until he sorted out his feelings, the daunting words stilled his movements.

_"Fifth day they return, and it's another girl's turn._

_Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams."_

She shuddered against him. It was the first time he'd ever seen a frightful response from her where she hadn't gripped her sword in defense. His fingers gave a light squeeze before he even thought the better of it.

_"Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew._

_Eighth day, we hate it as she is violated."_

"Maker," Wynne gasped behind him, her steps stumbling as they all struggled against listening and avoided the large bulbous sacks forming against the walls.

_"Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin._

_Now she does feast, as she's become the beast."_

Silence befell them as they continued to press towards the haze of light flickering in the distance.

"What was that?" someone hissed a whisper.

"I don't know," Sereda murmured. "We've never come across anything like this."

Alistair wasn't as concerned for the words as he was the source.

"Hold fast," Aydan told them, her fingers sliding from his as she reached for her sword. They'd reached a door and only the Maker knew what lay beyond it.

She toed open the door, tensed against the threat of an attack that never came. Farkas let out a huff, which apparently meant more to her than him because she lowered her sword and passed through the barrier. The remainder of the group filed after her, but whereas Aydan had lowered her sword, Alistair kept his rigid, ready for the slightest attack.

The hallways they took to led them to a larger room, filled to the brim with those same fleshy sacks. Crouched before a ravaged darkspawn corpse was another dwarf, her fingers tearing through the decayed flesh and lifting it to her mouth. Alistair's throat contracted with the convulsing of his stomach.

At the sound of their approach, the woman began to straighten, her hands held loosely in front of her waist as her head lolled onto her shoulder. Dark bruises sagged under her eyes, her pupils constricted and pale. Through her translucent skin, he saw the throb of her veins in time with her slowed pulse.

"What is this?" her impassioned voice questioned. "A human? Bland and unlikely."

There'd been a time where a comment like that might have been met with a sarcastic response. But Aydan held quiet, her eyes roving over the dwarf's unhealthy form.

"Feeding time only brings kin and clan. I am cruel to myself. You are a dream of stranger's faces and open doors."

"Does that mean you've been forced to eat your kin?" Kallian asked in a stiff voice from the back of the group.

"First day they come and catch everyone…"

"What is that dreadful chant?" Morrigan demanded, the only uncaring one amongst the group.

"It's what I've seen," she murmured. "What I will become. I force it into verse so it is fantasy, unreal. That's the only place I can hide, because they make me… they make me eat… And then… All I could do was wish Laryn went first. I wished it upon her so that I could be spared. But I had to watch. I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?"

"Branka?" Aydan repeated. "Are you from Branka's house?"

"D-do not talk of Branka, of what she did. Ancestors preserve us, forgive me. I was her captain and I didn't stop her. Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her… but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become."

"What did she do, Hespith? What did Branka do?" Oghren suddenly demanded.

"I will not speak of her!" she wailed. "Of what she did, of what we have become! I will not turn! I will not become what I have seen! Not Laryn! Not Branka!"

Alistair's lips parted to call for a stop the moment the dwarf took off, her stout little legs carrying her far across the room before any of his group could even look away.

"Should we follow her?" Wynne questioned. "She clearly needs assistance."

"Of that I'm sure," he responded. "But the question is can she be helped? You heard her, they've been forced to feed on their own kin and we saw her eating the darkspawn. That sort of taint you cannot come back from."

"We follow her," Aydan said. "She clearly knows where Branka is, she might lead us."

Toeing over the sacks, the group pressed from the room, following in this Hespith's wake.

"A lover," Oghren grumbled. "I suppose that might explain why she never came home."

Alistair cast a glance over his shoulder in time to catch the dwarf throw back another swig of ale. Where he kept it, he had no idea, but he found himself longing for a swallow at the moment. However, it was Kallian and Leliana that drew his eye next, their bodies pressed tightly against one another as they followed in the wake of the group. Their words were hushed and only loud enough to be heard by one another, but the obvious affection shone through their faces. Alistair could see enough to know Kallian was upset over something, most likely their position here and the condition of the people surrounding them. From the light brush of Leliana's knuckles across her cheek, he figured she was comforting the young elf. A wrench in his heart turned him back to the path they followed, his eyes lingering on Aydan's back. And as though sensing his attention, she glanced back at him, her lips curving in a sad smile as she offered him comfort. It lifted his spirits if only for a moment to come crashing back down the moment he met Daylen's gaze. He wondered if the man realized he was glaring. Alistair merely returned the favor, remembering the night before when he'd stumbled across their conversation. The man had been about to confess his feelings to Aydan when he'd shook the tent flaps purposely to alert them to his presence.

Now was certainly not the time to focus on it, but it was that moment when he realized he _had _ to tell her. Whether she left him like all the others or not, this couldn't continue. The threat of Redcliffe was part of the reason he knew she had to be told, but, as he turned another glance back to the two women, he understood it was more than that. He only prayed to the Maker she wouldn't shun him.

They passed into yet another corridor, this one darker and danker than all the others, snapping his thoughts back to the present.

Hespith had returned to that blighted chant, her words dripping with disgust as she described what it was like to taste the flesh of the tainted creatures they'd become.

They rounded another corner, their steps light as they listened. In the distance, he caught the sound of a raspy strained breath, rising and falling like the wind.

Hespith's words came again. "_ Now she does feast, as she's become the beast." _And as they rounded yet _another_ corner, she finished with a single haunting word - "_Broodmother_."

Alistair had never heard of such a thing, but at the slight jump of Aydan, the heels of her boots pressing down on his toes as his arms wrapped around her waist, steadying her, his eyes rose. His lips parted in wonderment at the creature writhing in a mess of tentacles before them, the swollen mass of her body cascading in rolls of flesh, her dark soulless eyes burning through them all.

_"Broodmother,"_ Hespith had called it. The mother of all darkspawn.

* * *

><p>AN: So we have our final multi origins character! Yay! I even began a dwarf character to get a feel for Sereda's character. Let me know what you think :D, enjoy!


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

_The Blight is building, though it is years from being named by the surface. But the Memories know the signs. The Legion has lost Bownammar, though in truth, it was lost to the living long ago. The spawn are moving freely and have numbers even the Memories haven't seen. They will surge, release. We will fortify and follow. That is the way, and will always be so. Until we fall, and the surface wonders what has changed._

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

With the downward stroke of her blade, Aydan put an end to the pathetic existence of the blighted creature. There'd be no more spawn suckling at her multiple teets, no more flesh poured down her throat, and no more mutations deforming her. Whatever she had been; human, elf, qunari, or dwarf, Aydan only hoped she'd find peace.

The women of the group all shared a single look, the defiant streaks in their eyes similar.

"If I ever become like that, feel free to drive your blade through my heart." Kallian was the one to speak the words they all were thinking.

It seemed for once even Morrigan agreed. "Twould be the kinder solution."

"That's where they come from," that raspy voice came once more, this time from above. As a single unit, they all turned, their weapons drawn, Kallian's the only one trained at the drawf's heart. "That's why they hate us... that's why they need us. That's why they take us... that's why they feed us."

Aydan held back the itch forming under her skin as she watched Hespith.

"But the true abomination... is not that it occurred. But that it was allowed. Branka... My love... The stone has punished me, my dream-friend. I am dying of something worse than death. Betrayal."

With her final haunting words, Hespith turned and vanished into the thick folds of darkness surrounding her.

"Should we follow her?" a gentle voice came from directly behind her. Ayden knew it was Alistair before she even turned.

"No," she said. "We have our mission. It's Branka. Whatever Branka is doing, I don't think it concerns Hespith anymore."

"I don't think it concerns any of her house," Oghren muttered unhappily as he stalked past the two of them, leading towards yet another tunnel.

Aydan peered down it, a slight sigh slipping past her lips. "Maker, I will be happy when we are free of this place."

Alistair gave a sharp nod, his gaze following hers. "How long do you think we have been down here?"

Taking advantage of the opportunity presenting itself, she continued the conversation. "I wish I knew. Long enough that I've forgotten what fresh air feels like."

"We should make camp for a few hours," he suggested as he reached down for his pack. "Let them get a little rest."

She muttered something in kin with agreement even though she loathed the idea of camp. Down here, her dreams seemed darker and more realistic. Every time she closed her eyes, the image of the archdemon took shape. It was only a matter of time before they'd have to face the creature and she was not looking forward to that day.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

He'd taken first watch, his thoughts too far muddled to even attempt sleep. Aydan's tent shone like a beacon, beckoning him closer with each passing moment. Now that he'd made the decision to tell her about his bloodline, the only question that remained was when. Part of him wanted it done, in the open, his fate sealed. But the other hoped beyond any reason that she'd simply accept it. Of course, his past had taught him enough to know that wouldn't happen. No one ever 'simply accepted him'. Disgust, mistrust, accusations, that was what he was always met with. As though it had been _his_ fault that his royal father had decided to whore around with someone of inferior birth, and not his wife. No one held the king responsible, simply those that resulted from his actions. His mother very well couldn't bear the burden, she was dead. So, that left him. And Maker, how they had all made it absolutely obvious how much they loathed him.

The only thing holding him back was the fear of her reaction. Since the very first day he had met her, she'd intrigued him, from the moment she nearly split his neck, to her loyal mabari curling up next to her as she brushed away those stray tears that she believed no one saw. Intrigue slowly grew into interest as he watched her handle the burden of a Grey Warden with little complaint. Her temper had been something else entirely, but even then, her flushed cheeks and bright eyes only drew him like a moth to a flame. Interest had grown into desire the moment he caught sight of her perched upon the rock, smiling as she tipped her face towards the rain. But the first time he tasted her, felt her soft curves conform to him as she responded eagerly to his kiss, that was when he'd fallen.

He cast his eyes away from her tent flaps and back to the fire, startling at the sight of a shadow seated next to him, her stick poking at the flames.

"Andraste's flaming sword, Leliana," he gasped as his hand fisted over his chest. "You very nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I did not mean to," she commented with a sly smile. "As engrossed as you were with our dear leader's tent, it seemed almost impossible to distract you."

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, slowing his pulse with even breaths.

"Kallian is asleep," she informed him with a slight shrug. "I thought perhaps I would take over for you."

"She doesn't like it down here, does she?" he asked, his memory flashing back on the image of them curved around one another as Leliana offered comfort.

"Do any of us?"

"Fair enough. Aydan would never let anything bad happen to any of us, though," he told her, knowing in his heart it was the truth.

Leliana's face kilted towards Alistair, her gray eyes reflecting the firelight. "_I_ will not allow any harm to come to her."

He gave a nod. "You care for her deeply, don't you?"

"I dare say as much as you care for Aydan," she murmured, the tip of her stick flaring up embers as she poked through the coals.

"Let me ask you something," he mused, pondering the intelligence in his next question.

"Of course."

"Does she know of your past?"

The young woman stilled in her seat. "What do you know of my past?"

He flicked her a gentle smile. "Absolutely nothing. But one would assume that wouldn't be the case for Kallian."

"The past is the past, Alistair, is it not? Why should we focus on such things? My past is an entirely different life than the one I lead now. I am content with Kallian, as she is me. I am sure she has her own colored past, a city elf as she is. Do you believe I am swayed by this?"

_If only that was the way the world work_, he mused as he watched her through the thick haze of smoke. Everyone was swayed by the past, it held the greatest hold over them. Regrets and tears were shed over things long since passed.

"Does this have something to do with the issues between Aydan and yourself?"

He straightened, fighting against the urge to look over at her tent once more. "What do you know of our issues?" he questioned, turning her own words on her.

Her lips curved into a very similar smile he had given her. "Absolutely nothing. But any watching can see there is something that stands in your way. And believe me, Alistair, there are very few that are _not_ watching."

_Daylen, of course_, he thought with a sigh. The only consolation was that his fellow Warden seemed unmoved by his claims of affection.

Alistair turned towards her, the words he'd been dreading telling Aydan dangling on the tip of his tongue. Could he trust this woman? With his life certainly, but what of his secrets? The only thing that kept him silent was the fear of upsetting Aydan further by telling someone before her.

"I am…" he hesitated. "Not _just_ who I say I am," he hinted, hoping he could give enough information without revealing all. "There is something about my blood that I haven't informed her of yet that changes quite a bit about the man she thinks I am."

Leliana's gaze slid over to him, her lips curled in an amused smile. "But does it?"

His brow narrowed. "I don't understand."

"The man that you are, Alistair, is who sits before me, a warrior; strong, confident, and loyal to the final moment. You are the armor you wear and the emblem you don. A name," she paused and slid him an astute look, "is something given to you, but it does not make you who you are."

His shoulders sagged pitifully as her words washed over him. For so many years he'd thought the same thing only to have his face rubbed in it like a misbehaving dog. He was simply Alistair, not Alistair Theirin. They'd never given him the opportunity to become a Theirin. Nor did he want to. He took very little pride in belonging to that bloodline. "Why couldn't I have met you earlier in life, Leliana?" he asked softly.

"Because I would not have been the women then who sits before you now."

A bemused, yet startled laugh slipped past his lips. His jaw slanted towards her as he studied her figure curved over the stick, intent on the fire. "Do you have an answer for everything?"

"Of that, my dear friend, I assure you I do. Now, I believe your watch is over. Either go to her or get some sleep. Eventually you'll have to speak to her of these fears you have, bear all and trust that she will not let you down."

Fear slid through him. "And if she does?"

"Then I will make her see sense," the rogue threatened, her voice deepening.

His breath escaped him in a shudder as he rose from his warm rock, his eyes flicking once more to the tent. But with a quick shake of his head, he changed his course towards his own. It just didn't feel right. If he was meant to bear his soul, it could at least be under the light of the moon. The sound of Leliana's slight snickers chased him to his bedroll.

-Aydan-

More endless tunnels, darkspawn, and hideously oversized spiders that still brought a chill to her blood that no amount of warmth could drive away. It was as though she could still feel the cling of their webbing, rooting her to the spot. It had taken every last ounce of her restraint not to run screaming after Sereda had cut her free. Her companions looked to her for strength, she would not let them down. But she _loathed_ being trapped. It gave her something new to dream about, she was sure. The sight of those repulsive creatures lowering to the ground with their grotesquely long legs curled around their strands of web as their multiple eyes gleamed at her would haunt her for the rest of her life. As short as it may be.

Her map had proved ineffective the moment they established they'd crossed into the Anvil of the Void. No dwarf beyond Branka had successfully delved this far. So with every fork in the road, it was left to Oghren to choose which way to go. She disliked her life dangling in the hands of another, but she had to trust that he would find her.

Her thoughts were deferred the moment the ground began to shake beneath her feet. Rocks were uprooted as the stone beneath them swayed fluently. Aydan wasn't the first to lose her footing, but when she did, her elbow connected with a softer portion of someone's body. A quick glance had her blushing as she found herself flattened against Alistair, her elbow pushing against one of the more tender areas. The poor templar went red in the face as he gasped for air, his armored hands clutching at her arms as he lifted her clumsily from his body.

Her jumbled apologies were swallowed by a sudden crack of thunder above them. Were they on the surface she would have expected an immediate flash of lightening. But down there it could only mean one thing.

She gazed up at the fracture that appeared above them, a fine dust of rubble sprinkling down over her face. Her shoulder jarred painfully as someone shoved at her, yet she couldn't tear her gaze away from the growing fissure. Fingers twined through her own just seconds before she was yanked from the ground and shoved in the opposite direction.

The collapse was deafening. She squeezed her eyes shut against the assault of dust and clapped her hands over her ears, staggering away from the cave in. Before she could even open her eyes, her pulse took off, the thrum even louder than the rocks crumbling against the ground.

_Trapped_. It was the only logical thought that took shape.

"No!" she cried out as she raced back towards the opening that was now sealed shut, her fingers prying at whatever rock she could move. A fine sheen of sweat formed on her brow and it wasn't from effort.

"Aydan!" a myriad of voices called to her from behind, but she was lost to them as she frantically searched for a weakness in the pile of rubble she could exploit. They needed a way out, _she _needed a way out. Without the maps, without this exit, how would they know which way they had strayed? How would they find their way back through the Deep Roads?

"Aydan," just one voice this time, softer and gentler, their hands grazing against her fingers as they drew her away from the rock. Tears pricked at her eyes as the panic gained hold of her emotions. The chill of his armored finger against her chin drew her gaze up towards his eyes, so calming. "It's alright," he told her. "We'll find another way out."

Her head shook, her sooty hair spilling about her shoulders. "What if there isn't one?"

"Have you seen how many roads there are?" he teased ever so gently, his lips curving into a smile as he offered her peace. "We _will_ find another way."

A hiccup fell from her lips as she turned back to the wall of rock barring their way, but his hand was there, spanning the width of a single rock. He drew her into his chest, crooning gently to her beneath his breath. Eventually her pulse began to slow, her breath evening out.

When she finally stopped shaking, he glanced down at her, slight concern creasing his eyes. "Claustrophobic?"

Her shoulders rose in a tiny shrug. "Didn't used to be."

She could remember plenty of times where she'd hidden in the larder from Fergus or crawled into tiny little holes to escape him.

"What changed?"

A shadow crossed her face as she turned her gaze back up to him. "Waiting out Howe's men in the confines of the servant's passage. The walls just started creeping in on me."

With a nod, he tucked her hand into his and led her back to their companions. It was to his signal that they pressed onwards. They didn't make it far, however, as another dwarf appeared atop the ridge they faced, her own face darkened with ink, her armor stained and soiled. A moment of clarity allowed Aydan to realize this was the dwarf they were looking for.

"Let me be blunt with you. After all this time, my tolerance for social graces is fairly limited. That doesn't bother you, I hope."

What bothered her was the expanse of rock standing between her and freedom, but she chose to push that from her thoughts as she focused on the woman.

"Shave my back and call me an elf! Branka? By the Stone, I barely recognized you!" Oghren shouted, stepping before the rest of the party.

"Oghren," she sneered. "It figures you'd eventually find your way here. Hopefully, you can find your back more easily."

Daylen's chuckle slid over the group. "Oh, I'd say they're married alright."

"And how shall I address you?" she demanded of Aydan. "Hired sword of the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or just the only one who didn't mind Oghren's ale-breath?"

"Be respectful woman!" Oghren sniped. "You're talking to a Grey Warden."

"Ah, so an important errand boy, then. I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He was on the old and wheezy side."

It was only Aydan's grip on Sereda's arm that held the dwarf back, though even Aydan could see the fury alit in her eyes.

"Orzammar needs a new leader to defend against a Blight," Aydan offered.

"A king won't defeat a Blight. We've had forty generations of kings and lost **everything**."

"I was actually more hoping a queen would," Aydan said with a fraction of a smile, her eyes landing on the princess next to her.

"Lady Aeducan," Branka acknowledged her. "I did wonder if that was you after all. Odd to see you here in the Roads, and so far from home." No one offered any explanation, even as Branka's eyes jumped between each of them. With a small shrug, she continued. "I suppose it makes sense for you to be here. You were the most capable of your family. But this discussion is pointless. I don't care if the Assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne. Because our protector, our great invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting! The Anvil of the Void. The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems and held off the first archdemon ever to rise. It's here. So close I can taste it."

"And let me guess, there's a catch," Aydan sighed. There always was it seemed.

Branka's eyes widened. "The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself. My people and I have given body and soul to unlocking its secrets. _This_ is what's important. _This_ has lasting meaning. If I succeed, the dwarven people benefit. Kings, politics… all that is transitory. I've given up everything and would sacrifice _anything_ to get the Anvil of the Void."

Aydan did not like the sound of that one bit. Everyone always seemed willing to sacrifice anything and everything for something they desired. Zathrian had allowed for the massacre of his people simply because he longed for nothing more than vengeance. Uldred had allowed for the destruction of the tower and its Circle in a doomed attempt to free them from the templars, ending only in death for all. And now Branka.

"Does that include Hespith and the others of your house?" she hissed, the haunting words of Hespith echoing through her memory.

Branka's face darkened with rage. "Enough questions! If you wish me to get involved with this imbecile election, I must first have the Anvil."

How she was tired of being blackmailed. No one seemed able to look past their own wanton desires to understand the threat of the Blight. Her fingers traced the carvings in her hilt. The temptation was there, if only fleeting, to run her steel through the woman. So many deaths, all for this Anvil.

"There is only one way out Warden," her voice was laced with humor as though she knew of Aydan's fear. Even the words spiked her blood. "Forward. Through Caridin's maze and out to where the Anvil waits."

Like sheep, they'd been shepherded to this exact spot. Aydan saw it now, as clear as a winter night's sky. All a part of Branka's ruse to use her as she had used the rest of her house. Clear out the traps, hand her over the Anvil, and she'd have her Paragon. Every ounce of hate she suddenly felt for the woman, every drop of injury she wished to cause, she allowed to shine through her eyes. Let the woman see her death in her face.

"What has this place done to you?" Oghren bellowed. "I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance."

"I am your Paragon," Branka told him gently.

"You're nothing more than a common thug," Aydan growled as the woman turned and left the ridge.

* * *

><p>AN: The game plan had been to finish the Deep Roads in this chapter, but it became too long and I didn't want to rush, so one more to go before we're finished with Orzammar :D Thank you again to all the reviewers, readers, subscribers, everything, it truly makes my day to see so many people enjoying the story :D


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
><em>I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.<em>  
><em>I shall endure.<em>  
><em>What you have created, no one can tear asunder.<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

Whoever this Caridin had been, his traps and mazes were beyond anything she could have imagined. When the engorged statue before them _finally_ crumpled to dust, her shoulders sagged with exhaustion and relief. Where in the Maker the blood that poured from its eyes came from, she had no idea, nor was there any lingering desire to find out.

She sheathed her blade and turned, sighing at the sight of yet another door barring their way. She shared a glance with Kallian, offering her a slight smile at the sight of darkened bags sagging under her eyes. They were all _so_ tired and certainly irritable. There'd been a few squabbles between Wynne and Morrigan that she'd had to break up already. There was something about apostate mages that seemed to get under Wynne's skin. In the end, Aydan had to stand up for Morrigan and silence Wynne. It seemed it didn't matter what the poor women did, Wynne would return to hounding her.

"Another door," Daylen grumbled as he sidled up next to her.

She hummed a nonverbal response before straightening her shoulders and leading them towards it. She could only imagine what they would find beyond the barrier. More aggressive statues, perhaps? Or more of that poisonous gas that _still_ burned her lungs with every breath.

It was Sten that knocked open the doors with the flat of his hands, his own irritation at this entire situation obvious from his incensed comments and perturbed looks. The remainder filed through after him. Her gaze rose from the ground, her steps faltering at the sight that lay before them, an exceptionally large statue awaiting them.

"Please tell me we don't have to fight _that_," Daylen whispered.

"Maker..." she was fairly confident that one came from Wynne.

"Just remember your spells," Aydan murmured back to him. They'd found in the previous rooms their cone of cold was the most effective as everyone's blades simply deflected off the rock.

"Welcome," the heavily armoured golem spoke. For a slight moment, Aydan paused, briefly wondering where the voice came from. Stone should not speak. "My name is Caridin. Once, longer ago than I care to think, I was a Paragon to the dwarves of Orzammar. If you are here seeking the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to relive it."

Even though her legs trembled under the threat of collapse, her ears perked at his words. _Another_ paragon. And this was the renowned Caridin? That one Branka spoke of? "As in _the_ Caridin?" she posed. "Of Caridin's Cross?" She couldn't believe the relief that loosened her muscles. Finally, things were coming to an end, the light at the end of the tunnel. Soon, she'd once again taste fresh air, feel the warmth of the sun upon her skin, be rid of the perpetual layer of grime coating her skin. And with that startling revelation came the promise that she would never return down here again. The narrowed walls were not meant for someone like her.

"Though I made many things in my time, I rose to fame and earned my status based on a single item: the Anvil of the Void."

And so it was time to get down to business. She cast a dark glance over her shoulder, expecting Branka to come bursting through at any moment. After all, this was what she'd wanted from them, a way through the traps which they had unwillingly provided.

"It allowed me to forge a man of steel or stone, as flexible and clever as any soldier. As an army, they were invincible. But I told no one the cost. No mere smith, however skilled, has the power to create life. To make my golems live, I had to take their lives from elsewhere."

From elsewhere? She certainly hoped he wasn't going where she thought he was. The idea of an invincible army was intoxicating. For a moment, it gave her a flare of insight towards Branka's reasoning. But to take lives in order to create these golems, that seemed... excessive.

"Was it worth it?" she questioned gently.

"My king believed it to be. I had only intended to use volunteers, but he was not satisfied... and soon a river of blood flowed beneath this place. Finally it was too much. I refused. And so Valtor had _me_ put on the Anvil, next. The blow of the hammer opened my eyes. My apprentices knew enough to make me as I am, but not enough to fashion a control rod. I retained my mind."

She lacked the knowledge of whatever this 'control rod' was, but if it was anything like how it sounded... her stomach clenched with the thought. Not only had they taken the lives of men but taken away whatever free will they possessed. They were, in essence, slaves.

"We have remained entombed here ever since, and I have sought a way to destroy the Anvil. Alas, I cannot do it myself. No golem can touch it."

She could sense the direction this was going. But for once, Aydan saw something she could gain from this favor. "And you wish for me to assist you?"

"Yes, stranger," he told her. "There are those that seek to return to the old days, force dwarves under the hammer, and raise an army none could stand against. This cannot come to pass."

"We need the Anvil," Oghren growled. "Or did you forget the reason we're stuck in this sodding place? Without the Anvil, no Paragon, no vote, no king, no men."

Oghren's words were true enough, except there was a Paragon. The one that stood before them. And if she had a choice between a dwarf that sacrificed everything, even those that claimed to love her, or a golem that was simply trying to save more lives, the decision was rather easy.

"How do I destroy it?" Aydan asked, noting the collective sigh that came from the other companions.

"No!" another voice shrieked from beyond the doors. Aydan spun, her jaw tightening as she watched Branka race towards them. "The Anvil is mine! No one will take it from me!"

"I beg to differ," she hissed, turning back to Caridin.

"Please!" Caridin beckoned, the glowing blue of what she imagined were his eyes bearing down on her. "Help me destroy the Anvil! Do not let it enslave more souls than it already has!"

"Paragon," she stated. "Help me choose a new leader for Orzammar and I swear to you and the Maker, the Anvil will be destroyed."

"What?" Branka howled. "The Anvil is needed to protect Orzammar! It would defeat the Blight once and for all."

Heat enflamed Aydan's cheeks as she spun towards the dwarf, bearing over her, her blade slapping against her thigh with her words. "And how many lives would you force to the hammer? You sacrificed those that loved you, that trusted you! You brought your house to ruins! You let the darkspawn turn them, allowed for your family to become monsters, all with the hope of bringing you closer to the Anvil. When the volunteers run out, as they always do, you'd do no less than Valtor."

The woman's eyes flared with hatred, her stubby nose scrunching as her eyes narrowed on her. Aydan's fingers tightened on the hilt as she silently dared the dwarf to make the first move. It would be her last.

"You will destroy the Anvil?" Caridin questioned from her back.

Aydan gave a small nod.

"Thank you stranger. Your compassion shames me."

"No!" Branka spat, her eyes lighting with a new fury as she drew her own weapon. "You will _not_ take it! Not while I live!"

"Branka," Oghren pleaded. "Don't throw away your life for this!"

"Oghren, back off," Aydan snapped, tossing him an agitated glare. She would not fail this time. The dwarves would not fall to someone like her, forced into mindless creatures. The mages had been enough of a loss, she would not allow the same to happen to the dwarves.

"Just give her the blasted thing," he begged. "Maybe we can talk some sense into her after."

There would be no compromise. Abomination, golem, she couldn't see a difference. Either way, someone was trying to create monsters, forced to do their master's bidding.

"Bah!" Branka slid back. "You are not the only master smith here, Caridin! Golems, obey me!" she ordered as she lifted a wand-like object from her side. Aydan had a feeling she was looking at a control rod and from Branka's words knew exactly its purpose. Already the woman was showing what she was capable of; turning these golems into her slaves to fight against her companions. "Attack!"

Aydan made the first move, her sword shimmering in the light of the lava as she slashed out, her blade laying against Branka's arm. A second passed where Branka gazed down at her arm where blood trickled over her skin.

And then the ground was shaking under her feet, the groan of the golems almost deafening. Aydan's eyes rose as she watched the statue's shake out their limbs and press towards them.

"This is not good," Alistair mumbled as he appeared at her side, his shield held before them as they weighed the advance.

The golems marched towards them as a unit. But it was Branka she looked to. Hate emanated from the dwarf's eyes, singling Aydan out. And as much as she would have loved to let Branka taste her steel again, it was the impending golems marching right at her that called her attention.

"Alistair, protect the mages," she ordered him. "They are our only chance."

With a brusque nod, he darted towards them, calling their names as he directed them towards specific locations.

"Daylen, Wynne, Morrigan," she continued, "Take out the golems, focus your fire on them-"

Her orders were interrupted the moment a steel shield slammed into her face, drilling her down into the ground. Her hand pushed off the rubble as she spun on knee, her blade following in an arc. From the effeminate gasp that sounded, she knew it was Branka she faced and not a golem.

Using the distraction, Aydan leapt back to her feet and danced around the dwarf, her blade meeting the steel of Branka's shield as it swung down on her once more.

The two broke into a quick paced dance, each deflecting the other as they attacked. Aydan dropped to a knee and thrust out her sword, grimacing when she only met air. A shadow cast over her and she ducked in time to avoid Branka's sudden strike. Before Aydan could gain any footing, the dwarf lunged again, her blade narrowly missing Aydan's shoulder as she dropped it and weaved to the side. But Aydan still had a few tricks remaining up her sleeve, compliments of traveling with rogues. Taking a lesson from Leliana, she tucked and rolled around to Branka's back. As she climbed to her feet, she released a mighty cry and slammed her blade down, forcing all her strength into the attack. The battle around her seemed to pause as all turned to stare. Aydan's blade plunged hilt deep through the dwarf's back, cleaving through her weakened armor. As she dropped to her knees, the Warden pulled the blade free and spun in a tight circle, releasing it into Branka's neck. It split, a torrent of blood staining Aydan's armor. Sneering, Aydan brushed away the beds of blood with the back of her hand. She braced her leg against the dwarf's back and kicked out, freeing her blade and tossing the dwarf unceremoniously into the dirt at the same time.

Aydan sheathed her sword and took inventory. With Branka's death, the golems had fallen still, their eyes directed towards her as they simply watched. Nodding, she drew her companions from the edges. It seemed there were very few injuries beyond a few lacerations marking their skin.

"Well done Warden," Sten said with a slight nod. She tried to ignore the blush coloring her cheeks.

"Another life lost because of my invention," Caridin groused. "I wish no mention of it had made it into history."

"Yeah," Oghren sighed. "You ain't kidding. Stupid woman! Always knew the Anvil would kill her."

Words of comfort died on Aydan's lips. It was hard to apologize to someone when you were the one to strike the blow.

"At least it ends here. I thank you for standing with me, stranger. The Anvil awaits you there for you to destroy it. Is there any boon I can grant you for your aid? A final favor before I am freed from my burden?"

"I need a Paragon's suppose to settle the election," she reminded him.

"For the aid you've given me, I shall put hammer to steel one last time, and give you a crown for the king of your choice."

Aydan cast Sereda a sly glance, winking softly. "Or queen."

The force of the golem's steps shook the ground they walked upon, but she followed, watching as he once again took up his hammer. As she watched, her thoughts began to linger once more on the promise of leaving this place.

It had taken longer than she expected and when he'd finished, he found her seated among lyrium veins, listening to Wynne teach her about the effects of lyrium withdrawal. In their boredom, nothing else seemed to suffice.

"There," his voice came as she rose and dusted off the back of her armor. "Give it to whom you will, I do not wish to hear their names, nor anything more of them. I have already lived far beyond my time. I have no place here."

"And as I promised, I will destroy the Anvil," she stated as she approached it. A single glance to her party was all it took for Daylen, Sten, and Alistair to march their own way up. Warrior she may be, but it was much too large for even Sten to carry on his own. It took all four of them sharing the burden of a corner each to heave it over to the edge. As it fell, Caridin let out a relieved sigh, his large hand falling on her shoulder. Her knees buckled, soft laughter falling from her lips as she dropped to the ground. The thing was absolutely massive.

"You have my eternal thanks, stranger. _Atrast nal tunasha_... may you always find your way in the dark."

With those final words, Caridin allowed himself to vanish over the edge. There was no cry, no gasp, just silence as the lava overtook him.

"Personally, I find a light helps," she murmured to the heap of rock melting in the fires before she turned to her party. "Let's find our way out of this mess and crown ourselves a queen."

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

There seemed to be an ethereal light shining from her and he wasn't the only that noticed. With every step they took towards Orzammar, someone stole another peak. He'd heard her laugh - even found it quite wondrous to listen to. He'd also seen her smile. But he'd never seen her like this, bliss simply permeating from her. Her lips had curved into a permanent smile and there seemed almost a bounce in her step. It even brought a smile to his lips to watch.

The large doors to Orzammar stood before them. He felt relief, surely, but it paled in comparison. Her fingers rose to her lips, her smile beaming from beneath them. And as the door opened, a fresh burst of... well not fresh air, but fresher than what they were accustomed to washed over them.

Aydan turned her gaze down onto the princess who now stood practically melded against her. "Are you ready?" she asked.

The dwarf shook her head, the loose strands of her fiery head tumbling around. "I've been exiled. No one comes back from exile. This isn't right. I shouldn't be here."

"You did nothing wrong," Aydan crooned to her.

"We may know that, but they don't."

"Here," Leliana offered as she rifled through her pack. "Just a little something I picked up that might work for this sort of occasion, at least until you feel ready."

All eyes turned towards her as she drew a shortened cloak from her sack.

"I found it before we entered the Deep Roads. You never know when a cloak will come in handy."

"Thank you, but no," Sereda murmured. "If this works and I am to take the throne, I cannot hide behind the weight of a cloak."

Aydan's jaw slanted towards her. "Actually I would prefer if you did wear it for now, until I have the opportunity to speak with this Frandlin. It would be best to keep your presence hidden so not to scare him."

Sereda weighed her words before finally giving a nod and accepting the cloak. As she flourished it over her shoulders, Aydan tucked her tresses within the shadows.

"I think it'd be best if Leliana and Kallian led you to the tavern. We have some rooms there set aside for us. Sten, Alistair, and Morrigan, you three are with me."

Everyone seemed surprised with her choices, but he was quite sure she had her reasons, didn't she always?

"Where will I find this Frandlin Ivo?"

"House Ivo," she whispered as they neared the guards. "In the Diamond Quarters. The family is of noble blood, but not significant. I've had time to think on this. I suspect it is why Frandlin lied, a backhanded scheme to elevate his family status. I'd always thought Frandlin to be honourable. This seems something more akin to his brother, Loilinar."

"The Grey Wardens have returned!" the soldiers cried as they watched they head towards the Diamond Quarter.

Aydan's hand fell upon her shoulder. "We'll return shortly to the tavern and I'll have your solution."

"Warden, wait," Sereda murmured as they approached the tavern. "Do not risk your life for this. If you feel Frandlin might harm you, leave. It is not worth it."

Alistair could have told her that was not the right thing to say, but this time, Aydan's lips merely curved into a menacing smile. "If anyone is meant to worry, it is Frandlin and your dear brother."

-O-O-O-

It was rather simple to found House Ivo. Aydan gestured to Sten, who with a strange look to his eyes, approached the door and knocked heavily. Very quickly everything was falling into place and Alistair was beginning to understand why he and Sten were there. As for Morrigan, that matter remained a question.

The door creaked open and before any words could be murmured, Aydan let herself in, turning in circles as she gazed upon the banners hung on the wall.

"I see what they mean," she mused aloud. "Certainly not one of the greater houses."

"I beg your pardon?" the servant hissed.

"Oh, I suppose I should have spoke louder? Frandlin Ivo, please," she said with a sly smile.

"You'll have to forgive us, he is out at the moment."

"Really," she mused as she circled. "That will not do. I suppose we will just wait here for him then."

Alistair nearly groaned as he watched her play her games. She certainly had her methods and raised among politics, he wasn't surprised.

"You cannot simply stay here," the dwarf hissed.

"Then I'd suggest running off and fetching Frandlin for us. His room is in what direction?"

The servant's eyes widened. "His room?"

"Yes," she laughed. "We're here on... official business of Prince Bhelen, I suppose you could say. I was ordered to speak only with Frandlin and in private. He's worked for the prince in the past, you see."

At the mention of the royal line, the dwarf practically leapt out of her clothing as she begun to scurry around, sorting whatever mess she could find. "Of course my lady, please, please, follow me. I'll bring him to you right away."

"Much better," she murmured to the small party before following after the dwarf.

The servant led them to a room and granted them entrance with an overly done flourish. "I will return with him immediately."

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Morrigan turned. "Might I ask the purpose of my presence here?"

"Shapeshift," Aydan spoke in a hurry.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I want you to shapeshift, we all know you can."

"And what form am I to take?"

Alistair watched as Aydan's eyes fluttered shut as she shuddered. "One of those blighted spiders."

The witches perfectly shaped eyebrow arched over her eye, but with a swirl of her stave, the woman before them melted down into an eight legged creature, complete with the fangs.

"Maker," Alistair groaned as he backed away, his fingers unconsciously reaching for his blade.

But before any other words could be spoken, the door cracked open and another dwarf entered, his eyes widening at the sight before him.

"The servant told me Prince Bhelen had come."

"We come on behalf of the Aeducan family," Aydan assured him. "You are Frandlin?"

"I am," he said as a shadow darkened his face.

With a simple signal, Morrigan crept behind the dwarf and placed her weight against the door. His eyes tracked her, foolishly giving Aydan his back. It was all Alistair could do to watch as she slid up behind him, her dagger held loosely in her fingers.

"What is this about?" he demanded.

The moment her blade pressed against the flesh of his neck, Alistair felt a slight amount of pity for the dwarf. After all, he'd been in that position once himself.

"Do not call out," she threatened in a low voice. "Or my friend here will feast on your flesh, slowly."

His throat convulsed as he fought to swallow without slicing his throat.

"Now, we're going to have a nice conversation about Lady Aeducan."

The whites of Frandlin's eyes expanded at the name.

"You lied when you confessed to her murdering her brother, did you not?"

He shook his head erratically, but no words spilled from his lips.

"Think long and hard before you lie to me." Alistair watched as her lips moved against the dwarf's rounded ear. "I have a blade to your throat, and a man-eating spider blocking your path. If you think lying will save your life, you're mistaken."

The poor man seemed to be trembling in her grip, his eyes dancing between the blade and spider. It seemed he and Sten were meant to be the arm candy as it was.

"Now, let's try this again. Did you lie?"

The moment of silence was condemning enough on its own, but slowly the dwarf's lips parted. "Yes," he rasped.

"Perfect. I'm glad we could come to an understanding. Now remember this honesty for my next question. Did Bhelen assassinate his brother and ask you to lie on his behalf?"

"The Prince would never-"

She ran the length of her blade along his neck, the skin splitting very slowly in the corners. "We'll try this again."

Alistair's mouth gaped as he watched her. Never had he seen her so intimidating, even when he'd been on the other end of the blade. And the entire time, her lips were curled in a grin. He had to trust she wouldn't actually harm the dwarf, even as the trickle of blood stained the steel of her blade.

"Did Bhelen assassinate his brother and ask you to lie on his behalf?"

"Yes," the dwarf bellowed. "Ancestors, yes."

"Excellent. You're doing very well Frandlin. There's only one more thing I need from you and we'll leave you be."

"Please," he simpered. "Anything."

"You're going to tell the Assembly everything you've just told me."

Frandlin went slick with sweat, his already pale complexion blanching. "Bhelen will have me killed."

"Do you see a scenario where you get out of this with your life?" she asked quietly. "You framed an innocent for murder and destroyed her life, acted as an accomplice for the heir's murder, and from the sounds of it, worked as the catalyst to the king's death. Do you see a reason why your life should be protected?" Before the dwarf could answer, she shoved him roughly towards the door. "Now we're going to leave here, nice and friendly like. Try anything and I'll feed you to my spider piece by piece. And believe me, she loves the taste of dwarven meat. Agreed?"

The poor dwarf simply shook in her grip but with a slight nod, led them from the room. Aydan lay her dagger flush against her side, grinning at Alistair as she all but skipped past him. A bemused laugh tumbled from his lips as he followed in her wake, rejoiced to see her in such uplifted spirits, but a little concerned for the dwarf. It seemed a shame that she wasn't the heir to the Ferelden throne. Apparently to her, this was a game. How he still loathed politics.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry how long this chapter this! I had so much fun threatening poor Frandlin, it sort of just got away from me :D. Hopefully everyone enjoys it though. And for those that are curious, I have started a companion piece to this one, titled "Petals From a Fallen Rose". It's just some small little drabbles from the minds of the other companions that aren't given a voice in this story. Thanks so much to everyone who has favorited, read, and reviewed, means so much to me.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

_With passion'd breath does the darkness creep._  
><em>It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep.<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

A dwarf, a spider, a qunari, and two grey wardens walk into a bar... it sounded like a horrible joke but either way it had her snickering to herself as she pulled open the door, signalling to Sten to remain outside with Frandlin.

She wondered about Morrigan walking through Orzammar like that, but it seemed to do a better job that her own blade because the poor dwarf kept shooting terrified glances her way. Maker, even Aydan maintained enough distance from her so not to brush against those legs. Dwarves everywhere were crying out in horror, flattening themselves against walls, and diving through open doors. She was fairly confident were there no other options, they would have pitched themselves down into the fiery lavas below. Thank the Maker for ale though. The moment they entered the tavern, the patrons cheered loudly and raised their flacons to the air. She had to wonder what it was they were even seeing.

"Andraste's sword!" Leliana gasped as she rushed towards them. "Is that... Morrigan?"

"I certainly hope so!" Alistair grumbled.

"You can't walk around Orzammar like that," Wynne scolded as she swept over to them. "Are you trying to teach the dwarves it is perfectly fine to abuse magics?"

"Oh, like the dwarves even care," Kallian chuckled, lowering down to Morrigan's height and staring her in the eyes. "I think it's marvellous."

"The dwarves don't do magic," Aydan reminded Wynne, feeding her a steeled glance, daring the woman to continue complaining.

"It looks bad on the Circle."

"There no longer is a Circle. Enough, I have my reasons. Where's Sereda?"

"In your room," Kallian informed her as she backed away from Morrigan. "She felt it best to remain then until you returned."

"Someone fetch her for me, it's time to go."

It was Kallian who skipped off, her ivory braids bouncing with every step she took. Eyes followed her at every turn, hushed whispers taking to the air as they noticed her tipped ears. _Those_ they noticed, but the man-eating spider with flesh-stripping fangs they cheered at. Dwarven ale did wondrous things.

It didn't take long at all for Kallian to return with a cloaked dwarf in tow. Aydan immediately pointed them out the door, lest any dwarves recognize Lady Aeducan too soon. The moment Morrigan slid out the door, she heard tiny little gasps coming from Frandlin. He seemed even more frightened of her now than when she'd entered the tavern. Curious.

Sereda's shadowed eyes landed on the dwarf. One by one, her fingers curled into a fist at her side. It was only a calming whisper from Aydan that kept her from running him through.

"You were right about Harrowmont," Aydan told her. "He is rather honourable."

"You spoke with him, already?"

"I wanted to ensure he wouldn't give us any problems before we approached the Assembly. He wishes you well, is happy to hear that you are still alive and hopes to be of assistance to you when you take the throne. He redeemed himself, at least a little, in my eyes. He said that he would gladly remove his bid from the throne for you."

Lady Aeducan stared up at Aydan with gleaming tears in her eyes. "Then let us finish this so that I might have a chance to thank him."

-O-O-O-

Aydan curved over one of Morrigan's shoulders, striving not to touch her flesh and whispered instructions where she assumed an ear would be found. The spider gave an awkward nod before turning and standing guard at the main door with Sten, Daylen, and Farkas shadowing her. If any guards were to enter, that group would certainly give them pause. Wynne and Kallian were positioned at the top of the stairs, stave and bow at the ready if needed. As for Alistair, Oghren, and Leliana, they descended the stairs with her, the four of them flanking Sereda to ensure her protection. But it was Frandlin that led the way.

"Lords of the Assembly, I call for order! This argument gets us nowhere."

"Then why these delaying tactics? I call for a vote right now. My father has one living child to assume the Aeducan throne. Who would deny him that?" Sereda tensed at the sound of her brother's voice ringing through the chamber.

If ever a more perfect moment was needed, Aydan could think of none. "I would," she spoke clearly, her voice echoing over the stone.

"You?" Bhelen laughed. "You are a Grey Warden. Harrowmont's puppet. You have no say over dwarven politics."

"Perhaps _I_ don't," she mused. "But I did acquire a little tidbit of information that I found most enlightening. Something I would bet my best blade your Assembly is going to be quite interested in hearing."

Bhelen took to the steps, descending slowly as his eyes swept over Frandlin. "House Ivo has no need to be here," he said.

Aydan merely smiled pleasantly at Bhelen. "Tell them what you told me Frandlin." When the dwarf held silent, she jarred him forward with the hilt of her blade. "Do not make me fetch my pet."

His gasp was deep as he staggered forward. "Lords of the Assembly," the dwarf paused, his fingers trembling at his side. But that seemed all he was willing to say as he fell into silence.

"Oh Maker's breath," Aydan snapped. "We don't have all day. Your so-called Prince Bhelen was the one to assassinate Trian," she accused, her voice carrying over the entire chamber. "When his attempts failed to turn brother and sister against each other-" at the hushed gasps rising over her, her grin grew. "Yes, I speak of Lady Aeducan. When his attempts failed, he had Trian murdered himself and framed Sereda. His spies were placed among Sereda's group and forced to lie about what they saw. Tell them Frandlin," she ordered, jarring him forward once more.

With a dejected sigh, the dwarf hung his head in shame, dropping his eyes to the stone as he avoided the sudden murderous gaze of Bhelen. "It is as the Warden says."

The uproar that swept through the chambers was expected. It was the maniacal laugh of Bhelen, however, that gave her pause.

"And we are to take your word for this, Warden? You have no voice at our assembly. For all we know, you brutalized this dwarf into confessing such atrocities."

Aydan's lips parted with an intent to argue, point out how House Ivo had suddenly rose from the ashes as the middle son became the prince's second. An unlikely choice. But it was Harrowmont pacing down the steps after Bhelen that silenced her voice.

"I must confess," Harrowmont began, "that more than one of us had cause to question your story, Bhelen. Those of us that knew Sereda knew her as kind and compassionate, not the murderous traitor that you painted her as. When the Warden came to me with this man's word of your betrayal, I must admit I did a little searching of my own."

Aydan's gaze narrowed on the man. This was the moment where he would either prove his loyalty and honour, or somehow manage to find a way to turn this in his benefit.

He reached into his garments and extracted thin pieces of parchment, holding them up to the light of the Assembly so all could see."I hold in my hand written evidence of Bhelen's crimes and not Sereda's. Letters between Frandlin Ivo and Bhelen, arranging this little escapade. As well as a second scout, though where we might find him, I'm afraid I have no idea." Harrowmont spun and faced Bhelen, waving the papers in his face. "One would have thought you'd know better than to leave evidence of your crime simply lying about."

Bhelen's face darkened in rage, his fingers latching onto the hilt of his blade as he drew his sword. "I can assure you I did no such thing!"

With a quirked eyebrow, Harrowmont's lips parted as he prepared to read from the letters. Aydan was about to dive forward and meet the blade that was rushing towards Harrowmont's chest when the dwarf beside her suddenly threw off her cloak.

"Bhelen, hold!" she ordered.

The entire chamber fell silent as they all turned to stare at their exiled Lady Aeducan. Even Bhelen faltered at the sight of her, his blade sliding down to the ground.

"Sereda," he murmured.

"How could you?" she demanded, pacing towards him until she was flush against his chest. "How could you betray me like that? Betray father? Our entire house? Was it all so you could be king? You couldn't stand the idea of being third in line?"

He shook with anger, his eyes narrowing in hatred on her. "You heard how he spoke to us!" he ranted. "As though we were no better than commoners. With him gone, you'd be heir! But what was one more step to rid us of both of you!"

Yet again, the chamber was met with gasps. A confession was as good as any, Aydan realized as she leaned back with her arms crossed over her chest. Orzammar had its queen. And she would have her men.

"I loved you," she hissed in his ear. "You were my brother."

"Sereda-" he started.

"I will hear no more of your lies!" she cried as she backed away. "Arrest him," she ordered. "The Assembly will decide your fate Bhelen."

And of course, she would be the head of the Assembly. That same thought seemed to cross Bhelen. The moment Sereda turned to greet Harrowmont, his blade was bearing down on her. But Aydan had been watching so closely. Just as his steel was meant to meet her back, she was there, the Cousland sword deflecting him. A shadow of fear crossed his face when only one of his guards stepped forward.

"Wait!" Sereda called the moment Aydan moved to strike. "I do not want my brother harmed."

Silence fell over the Assembly once more.

"He is to be sentenced to the surface," she proclaimed. "Forever exiled from Orzammar, stripped of all rank and possession. The Legion is too good for you brother," she sneered. "They would gain nothing from your pitiful existence, and the darkspawn even less. To the surface you shall go and if I ever see your face in Orzammar, know that it will be _my_ blade you taste and not that of a Grey Warden's."

Hands appeared from everywhere, grasping at him and tearing him away from the chambers as he shouted threats and obscenities he could do nothing about.

Aydan couldn't help but watch, amused as the dwarf got what had been coming to him. It was nice to actually help someone, especially someone who deserved it.

"Thank you, Aydan," Sereda murmured, her grateful eyes shining up at her.

"My lady," Harrowmont drew her attention as he dipped into a low before her. "It is you who should be seated upon that throne. I withdraw my claim for the throne."

Collectively, the Assembly agreed, each stepping towards her to welcome her back to her home.

"Guess Caridin didn't need to make a crown," Aydan teased as she reached for the one dangling by Alistair's fingers.

"No, but I'll take it anyways," Sereda commented as she appeared once more at Aydan's side. "Never know when a girl could use another crown."

The two shared in the laughter which came to an end too soon.

"We need to be leaving," Aydan told her.

"I understand. And thank you once more. When the time comes, my soldiers will be there. Is there anything else I can do for you? You did give me back my life, and a throne."

"You'll make a fantastic queen. But build me a statue or something," she said with a wink. "Maybe one where I'm crushing the head of a darkspawn. I like the sound of that."

Sereda's face flushed with amusement. "I'll see what I can do."

With a simple nod, Aydan turned and led her people from the Assembly, the thought of fresh air and moonlight leading her towards the massive doors.

-O-O-O-

The moment their voices rose into the chilled night air it was as though the entire world stopped to listen. The call of the songbirds, the chirp of the crickets, it seemed even the flicker of the fire, all waned into silence. Aydan let her eyes drift shut as she curved into the warm folds of her brother's bedroll. Above her the stars twinkled, their light but a mere reminder of all that she loved. And peeking out from the wayward drift of the clouds was the moon, whose radiant shimmer cast down upon her companions. Even the wintry air and frosted ground was a blessing. Never again did she plan to set a single foot within the Deep Roads and with that acknowledgement she sank back into her nook and smiled peacefully.

Leliana's and Kallian's voices rose in harmony together, their song one of happiness and joy that Leliana had taken time out of their night to teach her. Aydan simply listened and watched as they twirled around the bonfire, their hands clutched within one another's, singing so beautifully. If ever a couple was meant to be together, it was them.

The first breath of fresh air she'd taken had done more for her than any amount of sleep. No longer were there stone walls sliding in on her, darkspawn plaguing their every step, or swelled creatures with tentacles. As she sat under the light of the moon, watching her companions dance and sing with merriment, she felt a semblance of happiness. The only darkness before her was Alistair. He'd been so distant since a few nights ago; barely speaking with her beyond what was required. The heaviness in her heart knew he was going to end things between them, even before they began. And the only reason she could think of was the fact they were both Grey Wardens. Was there some rule that said they couldn't be together? He would be the one to know. It was only a matter of waiting for him to deliver the blow.

"You imagine how amazing it would be to simply sit under the stars like this, not a care in the world, but it's even better," Daylen's voice mused from beside her, pulling her thoughts from their dark path. He'd dropped down to the seat next to her some time ago, before the moon had fully risen, but they'd barely spoken. All Aydan could focus on was his semi confession the last time they'd spoken.

Thankful for something to latch onto, she slid a smile his way as she glanced up at the object of his obsession.

"I've never seen the stars before all this," he continued. "Our recreation outdoors was always in the light of day where the templars could ensure no one could escape. At night, the tower was locked down, much like a prison."

"You've never seen the stars before?" she repeated, her voice laced with awe. She couldn't imagine living like that, locked away from the rest of the world, not to know the land as it was meant to be known.

"But I have now," he continued, turning to grin brightly at her. "Thanks to you."

Her throat constricted as the sight of his pleasant face glowing up at her in utter veneration. "Daylen, I didn't do anything, I just-"

"Saved me from the fade, recruited me away from the tower, and put a look on Greagoir's face that I have so wanted to do for years."

"You would have found your own way out," she promised him, hoping to the Maker the revered glimmer lighting his eyes would fade.

"No, I wouldn't have been able to defeat the sloth demon. I'm here because of you."

She wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. It was obvious, as she was sure it was to the rest of the group, that he wanted something from her she was unwilling to give. When she thought on her heart, it belonged to one man, and one man only.

And as though summoned from her thoughts, that man suddenly staggered towards her, his feet kicking up dirt as he stumbled awkwardly.

"Leliana," he hissed under his breath, a very dark glare falling over her.

"Now, Alistair," Aydan heard her growl.

Her eyes bounced between the two. Leliana was swept away by Kallian once more, but Alistair still stood in front of her, avoiding her gaze.

"Can we talk?" he whispered, his jaw turning away from Daylen.

She muttered an apology to Daylen as she rose from his side, following after Alistair who already stalked towards his tent. Here it came. But what Leliana had to do with any of it, she feared finding out.

-Alistair-

The sound of her quiet footsteps behind him was more than his nerves could bare. Thanks to Leliana, there was no putting this off anymore. But why it had to be _now_, Alistair had no idea. Everyone had been enjoying their night off, the two girls dancing around the fire the most it seemed. He loathed the idea of ruining her first night off in so long.

He drew the flaps back, turning his gaze down to the ground as she slowly walked past. The moment he followed, the flap sealed shut behind them. This was it.

She stood in the center of his tent, her eyes flashing down on the bedroll as though afraid to sit on it. So instead she turned to him, her hands crossed nervously before her waist.

"We should talk," he started.

"Yes, you mentioned that already," she murmured as her fingers fiddled with her leathers. It seemed he wasn't the only nervous one. And that gave him a touch of courage.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" she asked delicately.

The pained look stretching across her face twisted his stomach into knots. "I don't know. I doubt it. I know I never have."

A flicker of a frown crossed her face. "You never have?" she repeated.

What thoughts were running through her mind? She seemed startled with that confession on its own.

Sighing, he turned and ran a hand down the length of his face, her name falling out from his lips in a hushed whisper.

"If it makes it easier on you, I think I know what you're going to say."

"You do?" he questioned, turning to keep her in sight.

She nodded, her eyes slanted towards the ground as she avoided his gaze, a curtain of hair sliding over her face. "If you don't want to be with me, just tell me Alistair, and be done with it."

He nearly choked on his next words. Was that what she thought? He craved to cross the length of the tent and show her exactly how much he wanted her. But he couldn't. Not yet.

"Aydan," he sighed, unsure of where to even begin. Her shoulders tightened as though waiting for the blow. "Do you remember how I told you before how Arl Eamon raised me? That my mother was a serving girl in Redcliffe castle, so he took me in?"

She smoothed the hair away from her face as she turned back towards him. Some trick of the moonlight cast her face beneath a beam, softening her already milky skin.

"Yes?" she hedged.

The look of confusion blanking her face was almost laughable, were it not for the fear hovering over his heart.

"You wondered why he would do such a thing if he wasn't my true father."

She nodded slowly. "Is this your way of telling me that Arl Eamon really is your father?"

If only that were the case. He had to get the words out, she needed to know. They were only a few days travel from Redcliffe and he couldn't just drop it on her at the last moment. That wasn't fair to her. But the impending reaction held his tongue.

He let out a deep breath, rolling back his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tight crick that had formed there a week ago. Not a night had passed where he hadn't tossed and turned fitfully in fear of how she would react. It was foolish, was it not, to let someone have such a hold over him? But funny things happened when in the presence of the one you loved.

_Just say it_, he ordered himself. "The reason he did that was because... well my father was King Maric. Which made Cailan... my half-brother, I suppose."

He awaited the explosion, the angry words that would flare across the tent. But they didn't come. In fact, nothing did, beyond a stretch of silence. Seconds ticked into minutes as he waited by the seat of his pants for some sort of reaction beyond stupor.

* * *

><p>AN: I know this is a little sooner than game play for Alistair to confess, but there were a few things that convinced me to go this route. First off that I couldn't see Alistair making his little confession in front of the entire party as they marched into Redcliffe and second that it is rather unfair to wait until the very last moment for him to tell her. At night, in camp, it seems as though that little secret would be easier to bare haha. Hopefully you like it! As well, a chapter from Leliana's POV with Kallian has been posted in "Petals From a Fallen Rose" if anyone is curious about them together.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

It is difficult to separate the man from the myth. The last survivor of the bloodline of King Calenhad, the silver knight, Maric drove the Orlesian forces from Ferelden's borders, reclaimed the throne, and freed our people from foreign tyranny. All true, and all larger than life.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

_King Maric's son... King Maric's son?_ It echoed through her ears even as she mumbled it under her breath, but it just sounded so foreign. The son of King Maric lay in ashes. The man before her was her fellow Grey Warden... not... heir to a throne? Oh, Maker, he was the heir to the throne. Her fingers pinched against her brow as the bedroll suddenly conformed beneath her.

"I..." she trailed off, absolutely confused as to how to respond.

The remaining heir to the Ferelden throne. The Cousland in her saw the benefits to this. Having a Grey Warden on the throne would make things easier. But the Warden... and woman in her saw differently. It had been his words that told her she was no longer a Cousland. Could the same be said for him? Was he truly no longer a Theirin the moment he took the joining? While in theory, that made the most sense, Ferelden could not look away from the fact that another Theirin remained; another some would think to be more fitting for the role. But the Grey Warden in her understood what his being the prince meant. It meant she was the only true Grey Warden left in Ferelden. Obviously he would return to Denerim and take up the crown. Loneliness curved her shoulders as she realized that.

"Maker, _say something,_ please," he pleaded.

But she had no words. She hunched over, her hands clasped loosely in her lap.

"Aydan," he murmured, dropping to his knees before her. "Please don't be angry with me."

_Angry_? Her eyes flashed up to him. Was she supposed to be angry? That had to be the absolute furthest emotion from her. Confusion, shock, and despair, those were the first three she could put a name to.

"Is this why you've been so distant lately?" she winced at the frailety of her voice.

He averted his gaze and dragged a hand through his hair. "Yes. I didn't know how to tell you. It never seemed the right moment."

"So why tell me now?"

"Because knowing my luck, it's going to be brought up when we reach Redcliffe."

Even kneeling, the man was larger than her. She'd never noticed before just how massive he was, but staring up into his face, she felt it. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

A sigh slipped past his lips, as though this was the question he didn't want to answer.

"This secret has haunted me my entire life. And I was so used to everyone knowing who needed to know. And then... Duncan died and things just became overwhelming. How do you just tell someone that?" he demanded as he rose from the ground and began pacing the length of the tent.

"There were plenty of chances, Alistair," she mumbled, struggling not to let the hurt creep into her voice. From the slight crumple of his face, it seemed she'd failed.

"You're right, there was. I'm very sorry Aydan," he murmured as he returned to pacing. "I suppose a part of me liked you not knowing."

"Wait, you enjoyed not telling me? Don't you think that was a little dangerous?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I just meant I liked how you looked at _me_."

There was a slight frailty to his voice that quirked one of her eyebrows high. "What happens when people find out?"

A sharp sound echoed through the tent, a scoff of sorts. "I no longer am Alistair, but some bastard prince who's a threat to Cailan's reign. My whole life everyone has treated me differently, rejected me, looked down on me. Eamon only kept me _because_ I was Maric's son, there was no love between us. I realized that the day he gave me up to the Chantry. You were the first thing life gave me to whom I was simply Alistair, the Grey Warden."

"But you are the heir to the throne, are you not?" she grumbled, trying to accept it as fact but wishing it weren't the case. Politics had always been Fergus' life. She'd wanted nothing more than to be a warrior, something she was now.

"Maker I hope not!" he gasped, turning wide eyes to her.

"What? You hope not? Who else is there?" She couldn't understand what little boy dreamed of _not _being a king.

"Arl Eamon is much more likely to take the throne. Beloved by his people and trusted. The throne needs someone bred for politics Aydan, not someone like me. I don't know the first thing about ruling a country. Maker, the only thing in life I'm good at is killing darkspawn. I don't want that to change."

"You'd rather be a Grey Warden over king?" she asked cautiously as she rose.

"Every Grey Warden knows when they take their joining, their name means little. They are forever meant to combat the darkspawn. Let those with political understanding run the country. I'll settle for protecting it from the Blight."

Through his tiny speech, she had closed the distance between them, her stomach flipping with every step she took. There was no way she could express the happiness she felt bubbling within her. Beyond loathing the idea of being the only remaining Grey Warden in Ferelden, the thought of losing Alistair had been crushing. And while she herself was nobility, she had no plans to leave the Wardens. Knowing he was of the same frame of thought brought a true smile to her lips.

His eyes wandered over her face as she approached him, wary as though unsure of her intent. Showing him her smile, she rose on her tiptoes and claimed his mouth, her arms loping loosely around his neck. He startled against her as though a kiss had been the very last thing he'd expected. She'd been about to draw back, wondering if she'd overstepped her presence when his arms suddenly wound around her waist and flattened her against him, returning her kiss with a zealous passion.

When her breath started to quicken, she drew back, laughing at the bemused look on his face.

"Let me understand this, you're happy because I _don't _want to be king? What sort of Cousland are you?" he teased.

It was a valid question. Her parents had always supported the Theirin bloodline, but she would never force that on him.

"I thought you said I wasn't a Cousland anymore?" she asked in a husky voice.

"Very true," he said with a nod, his fingers threading through hers. "I must say, I'm not used to that sort of reaction to my little secret."

"Tell me what reaction you'd prefer and I'll happily oblige," she hinted with a tiny wink. "Your majesty."

His groan vibrated against her as he lowered down and stole another kiss. "You're going to make me regret telling you."

"Absolutely."

"Wretched woman," he teased. "Let's go, we should probably return to the others before they start to talk."

With her hand secured tightly in his, she followed him back out to the firelight. _Now _everything was falling into place.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

He couldn't even begin to describe the jubilation threatening to claw its way from his throat. Earlier in the night, it had seemed so dark with the swirl of his rotten mood. Now it was all he could to keep from joining the two girls singing and frolicking around the fire. And the only thing holding him back from that was the feel of Aydan's hand warmly cupped within his own.

He'd been so prepared for the worst, waiting for her berating words that he hadn't expected the reaction he'd gotten.

As he turned towards the fire, Leliana and he shared a glance. But when she threw him a soft wink, he laughed. Her attention was quickly claimed by Kallian the moment the elf stretched up to her and brushed a rather heated kiss against her lips. A few days ago that would have filled him with heartache, but tonight, he merely smiled.

It seemed not all were happy though. As he turned back to Aydan, he found Daylen glaring openly. Alistair's fingers tightened on hers as he directed Aydan closer into his chest, his eyebrows rising with an unspoken challenge. The mage's eyes flashed with hatred before he rose to his feet and stormed off towards his tent.

"I'm going to have to do something about that," Aydan whispered as she rested her cheek against his arm, her body settling with a sigh.

"Ignore him," Alistair suggested as his eyes trailed the slim expanse of the mage's back.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"I have something for you," Aydan stated cautiously as she reached into her pack. As she pulled the grimoire out, she couldn't help but notice how Morrigan's hawk-like gaze snapped down on it.

"Mother's grimoire," she murmured, awe smothering her voice. "How did you come to acquire it?"

"We found it in the tower. I thought you might like it."

"The tower?" she demanded. "But that was weeks ago."

"Sorry about that," Aydan grimaced. "With everything that's been going on, it sort of slipped my mind."

It hadn't been until that afternoon when she'd been rifling through her pack that she came across the second book placed atop her brother's journal. She'd meant to give it to Morrigan immediately but had apparently failed at that. She'd opted to take watch with her tonight as a chance to speak with her about it.

"When we came across the condition of the tower, I wondered if we'd come across this but when you returned with empty hands I merely believed it to be forever lost."

"Think you'll learn anything from it?" Aydan mused as her fingers trailed her brother's journal. It had been awhile since she'd looked at it. But a heavy head stretched across her sack, large brown eyes shining up at her, a low whine distracting her. Chuckling, she dropped her hand down onto the mabari's head. He was right. There was no need to look at things that caused pain.

"All of Mother's spells and thoughts. I believe I will glean a great deal of information from this."

"Glad to help then," Aydan said in an impassive voice.

"Is that why you offered to take watch with me?"

"Seemed the easiest way to speak with you without all the others crowding around."

The woman gave a sharp nod before turning her attention back down to the leather tome cradled in her hands. "You have my thanks. I will not squander this opportunity."

Aydan curved back against the log, her eyes drifting shut as she stared into the fire and listened to Morrigan flipping through the pages. This was her second watch having taken the first with Sten and her body was certainly feeling it. The warmth against her skin was soothing and before she knew it, she'd dropped off.

-O-O-O-

"How long has she been asleep?" someone's voice interrupted a very strange dream involving the archdemon dancing an Orlesian waltz with Alistair. Her eyes flashed open in the dark and she pushed herself back up, wiping ash from her cheek where it had settled from the fire.

"Good evening sleepyhead."

Through squinted eyes, Aydan found Daylen standing over her, an amused smile curving his lips.

"I fell asleep," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

"I'd say that's a good thing," he commented. "Wouldn't you?"

"I was on watch, Morrigan why didn't you wake me?"

The mage slanted a dark gaze as she lifted her eyes from the yellowed parchment. "I saw no reason to do such a thing."

"And if the darkspawn had attacked?" she groused.

"I am quite positive they would have woken you with their incessant growls."

There was silence for a moment before Aydan's shoulders began to shake with laughter. When she was right, she was right.

"You should head to your tent," Daylen told her. "It's my watch now, so both of you can get some rest."

"Who's on shift with you?" Aydan asked behind her hand as she yawned.

She already had her answer with the tightening of his shoulders and the pinch at the corner of his eyes. "Mr. Perfect."

"I prefer Alistair, most of the time," his voice came from behind them, obviously well rested.

Morrigan had already stalked off to her own little section of land, leaving Aydan sitting on the ground staring up at one mage and one templar. She'd been quite ready to retire to her tent, the thought of her bedroll calling to her. But even she felt the tension spiking.

"You know, I'm not tired," she spoke softly, hoping not to set either of them off. The testosterone was enough to choke an ogre. "Maybe I'll keep you two boys company."

Three watches in one night, her bones sagged from exhaustion.

"Don't be ridiculous," Daylen grumbled.

"Aydan, you need some sleep," that came from Alistair as he stood next to her.

Like she'd even be able to. She rose on shaky legs. It was the press of Alistair's fingers against the crook of her elbow that steadied her. But when he snickered, she turned towards him, her eyes fluttering shut as his fingers grazed against her cheek.

"Ash," he told her warmly. "Been sleeping in the soot?"

"That would be irresponsible," she teased.

"Go on," he crooked his head towards her tent. "I'm sure Daylen and I will be just fine. We are grownups after all."

The mage stood with his back to them, staring out in the line of trees encroaching on the camp.

"Besides, we'll arrive in Redcliffe tomorrow, you're going to want to be well rested for that. Eamon can be a little tiresome to deal with sometimes."

"I wonder what it would be like to deal with someone who isn't for once," she sighed, rising on her tiptoes to brush a chaste kiss across his cheek. It was Alistair who turned towards her, catching her lips instead.

"Pleasant dreams," he murmured gently to her, their fingers sliding from one another as she walked towards her tent. She knew he had done that purposely as a small slight to Daylen, but with the burning of her lips she found she simply didn't care.

-O-O-O-

There was certainly a slight more tension between the two of them when everyone woke for the morning and prepared to head into Redcliffe. _If_ anything had happened between Alistair and Daylen, neither wished to speak of it. Either way, Daylen had removed himself to the back of the group, traveling close to Oghren and Sten.

For once the sun was shining as they descended down the final hill. She could tell Alistair was nervous, but there wasn't much anyone could do about that.

"How long has it been since you were here last?" Leliana murmured.

"Longer than I care to admit," he answered.

Aydan cast her gaze over the land, following the rolling hills and weeds sprouting from the ground. "Is it usually this quiet?"

"No," Alistair said. "I think I see someone ahead."

It was his bow that she first took notice of, strung tightly over his back.

"Hail," she called to him, her hand rising in a friendly gesture.

"I… I thought I saw travelers coming down the road, though I scarcely believed it."

The two Wardens shared a glance.

"Have you come to help us?"

"Help you," she repeated. "With what?"

"So you… don't know? Has nobody out there heard?" the man raved, his hands nervously fiddling at his sides.

"What are you talking about man?" Alistair demanded, his serious side showing itself.

"We're under attack! Monsters come out of the castle every night and attack us until dawn. Everyone's been fighting… and dying…"

"Apparently everyone seems to agree that a Blight is the time to start killing each other. Marvelous, really," Morrigan sighed.

"We've no army to defend us, no arl and no king to send us help. So many are dead, and those left are terrified they're next."

"Wait," Alistair stepped forward. "What do you mean no arl? Where is Arl Eamon?"

"Last we heard, he had fallen ill. We don't even know if he still lives. No one has come from the castle in days."

"And what is this evil attacking you?" Aydan questioned, even though she sensed Alistair's anxiety to find out more information about the arl.

"I… I don't rightly know; I'm sorry. Nobody does. I should take you to Bann Teagan. He's all that's holding us together. He'll want to see you."

"Bann Teagan?" Aydan questioned. "He is here?"

"You've met the bann?" Alistair murmured to her.

"Yes, he and my father were friends," she whispered.

"I'll take you to him now, if you'll come with me. It's not far!"

Aydan gave a brusque nod before turning to the party. "Daylen and Kallian, take point here, watch the entries. Morrigan, Sten, and Oghren, head to the inn back there and stock up on whatever supplies you can find. Alistair, Wynne, Leliana, you're with me."

"Why hadn't we heard anything about the arl?" Alistair questioned under his breath as they followed after the archer into the town.

The entire town had fallen into a deathly silence. A few stray archers practiced before the Chantry, but there seemed little hope when their bows fell dejectedly towards the ground and a few ran off, their faces streaked with tears.

"Everyone else is in the Chantry, with Bann Teagan," their guide told them, flicking a glance over his shoulder as they followed after.

"This does not look good," Aydan commented, discouragement sliding through the pit of her stomach the moment their guide opened the door and only the soft sound of sobs filtered out.

* * *

><p>AN: Yay time for the undead to walk again! Guess what! We reached over 10,000 hits! How awesome is that? Thanks so much to everyone who is reading, reviewing, subscribing, everything :D


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

_Sitting on the western shore of Lake Calenhad, the village of**Redcliffe** is so named for the reddish hues of the cliffs that tower above it. A path leads up into the hills and across a bridge to an island where the ancient Castle Redcliffe has stood far longer than the village itself._

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"Aydan?" a guarded voice sounded from the front of the Chantry.

She heard the voice and knew to respond, but she couldn't tear her eyes from the people hovering near the walls, cradling what loved ones they could in their arms, their tears staining their ashen faces. All around her, their sobs rose as a harmony and her heart clenched with every pained sound.

A light hand fell on her shoulder, turning her away from the sight of a young girl keening frantically in a darkened blood stained corner.

"Teagan," his name fell from her lips as her gaze climbed the length of his body. He appeared just as haggard as all the others, rough stubble darkening his jaw. His hazel eyes seemed fogged with exhaustion and there now seemed lines and creases that hadn't been there before. Drops of blood splattered his clothing, a tear above his shoulder exposing a wound of his own.

"Has word finally reached beyond our city walls?" he questioned in a rushed murmur. "Who are all these people with you? Did your father send you to offer us assistance?"

She shrank back against Alistair. In a way, it made sense. If no news of what was happening here had made it beyond Redcliffe, she couldn't very well expect word to travel of her parents.

"No," her jaw rose as she glanced up and back at Alistair, silently pleading to him for help. Teagan and her father had always been close friends, she was sure he'd be devastated to learn the news.

"I remember you Bann Teagan," Alistair spoke quickly, diverting the man's attention to him. "Though, the last time we met I was a lot younger and... covered in mud."

"Covered in mud?" he mused, a puzzled look shadowing his eyes. "Alistair? By the Maker! Is it really you? You're alive! This is wonderful news. And traveling with a Cousland no less. How did that come to be?"

"Still alive, yes, though not for long if Teryn Loghain has anything to say about it," Alistair grumbled.

"Teryn Loghain?" he repeated daftly as he blinked rapidly.

"Aydan and I are Grey Wardens," he informed him.

The man's eyes lit up, the exhaustion dissipating in the furor of the moment. "Aydan, a Grey Warden? I never would have imagined your father would let you out of his sight long enough to be recruited."

"There were extenuating circumstances," she whispered, wiping the palms of her hands against the steel of her armor. Was this meant to be a test, to see if she was over what had happened? She'd never be over it, but perhaps make peace with it? With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and stared Teagan in the face, steeling her emotions against whatever reaction he might have. "My father has recently passed," she murmured. "My mother as well."

There was a moment's pause as his eyes swept over the entire party, as though silently daring one of them to defy her word. With the silence, his head began to slide back and forth, his gaze slamming once more into Aydan. "This cannot be. When... where... what... what happened?" he seemed to stutter over his words, unsure of which question to ask first.

"Just before the battle at Ostagar," she stated calmly, but the twitch of her fingers against her blades betrayed her true emotions. "Howe..." she drifted off for a moment, her eyes fluttering shut against the wrench of pain in her stomach. "Howe betrayed us. He laid siege to the castle and murdered everyone loyal to Cousland in sight. I was the only one to make it out alive."

The man staggered back, his hand clutching over his chest as he reached for the dais behind him. "Howe?" he repeated. "But they were friends, they fought together at White River, your father trusted him."

"We all trusted him," Aydan growled, biting down on her tongue when she felt a rush of emotion swelling to the surface.

"Your mother had even begun speaking to him about you and Nathaniel."

Her jaw fell slack as she listened to his ramblings. "What?" she hissed.

He turned shocked eyes towards her, obviously still shaken. "None of the men your mother was showing you interested you. So they were speaking of an arranged marriage. Nathaniel was quite the warrior. They thought that might intrigue you."

"I would rather die," she snapped. It was only the feel of Alistair's warmth at her back that kept her in a sane frame of mind.

"You almost did," Alistair muttered down to her before stating louder. "Maybe we should return to the events transpiring here. We actually came to Redcliffe to seek out Arl Eamon."

"You're here to see my brother?" the man was still pale, his fingers trembling as they rose to push his braid back behind his ear. "Unfortunately, that might be a problem. Eamon is gravely ill."

"Yes, your archer mentioned that earlier," Aydan sighed.

"We have no way of knowing if he is still alive or not. No one has heard from the castle in days. No guards patrol the walls, and no one has responded to my shouts."

"What about these monsters he was raving about?" Wynne hedged, her voice cautious as though afraid to speak, lest she attract some of the drama.

"The attacks started a few nights ago. Evil... things... surged from the castle. We drove them back, but many perished during the assault."

Aydan cast a dark glance back towards the entry of the Chantry. That much seemed obvious as it was. "I don't understand. What sort of evil things are you talking about? Is it darkspawn? Abominations? What?"

"If only it were darkspawn," he sighed. "Perhaps then we'd know how to deal with them. Some call them the walking dead; decomposing corpses returning to life with a hunger for human flesh."

Aydan's brows arched high. "The... walking dead?"

"Yes. And they hit again the next night. Each night they come, with greater numbers. I have a feeling tonight's assault will be the worst yet. Aydan, Alistair, I hate to ask this of you, but I desperately need your help."

Aydan reached out, the tips of her fingers falling gently against the cloth covering his arm. "We wouldn't leave you to this fate."

"Thank you Aydan, thank you. This means more to me that you guess. There is much to do before night falls. I've put two men in charge of the defense outside. Murdock, the village mayor, is outside the Chantry. You would have seen him on your way in. Ser Perth, one of Eamon's knights, is just up the cliff at the windmill, watching the castle. I would suggest conferring with them on how to handle tonight's battle."

A sly grin curved over her lips as she listened to his words. This Murdock and Perth might have been placed in charge of the defense, but it was her task now. Teagan grinned down on her, obviously knowing exactly where the youngest Cousland's thoughts had strayed towards.

Turning on her heel, she directed her small party out the door, only pausing the moment Teagan's hand slid over her arm and drew her back.

"My condolences over your family," he murmured softly. "Your parents were great people. Is your brother gone as well?"

She merely dipped her head, her eyes darting down to the filth encrusted floor.

"I see. When this is finished, I will return with you to Highever if it pleases you."

She worried at her lower lip as she glanced back to find her party hovering at the door, waiting for her. "I'm not going back Teagan."

"What?" he asked, closing the distance between them with a single step. "You are the last Cousland, how can you not return?"

"I'm not a Cousland anymore. The Cousland line has died out. I am a Grey Warden and my responsibility lies with them now, and protecting Ferelden from darkspawn."

His head shook, those light eyes burning with confusion. "Aydan, you _are_ a Cousland. They cannot take that away from you. And you _must _reclaim your land from Howe."

Her blood boiled at the mention of his name. "Do not worry about Howe. I _will_ deal with him. Highever will be liberated from him."

"But you won't stay afterwards?"

"I can't," she told him. "That's not how the Grey Wardens work. You can't simply abandon them."

Teagan's eyes rose over her shoulder where she was sure he was watching Alistair.

"I'll come find you once all the arrangements have been made, before dark."

"Understood," he said sadly, turning back towards the Chantry. Aydan rolled down her shoulders before turning and approaching her group, ready to seek out Murdock and Perth.

-O-O-O-

It was Kallian who dragged a half limp elf across the arched bridge and tossed him down in the mud at the Aydan's feet. Her sentence hung as she turned away from the knight and cast an amused glance down at the well armed male.

"He was in the tavern," Kallian pronounced.

"That's hardly reason enough to drag him unwillingly across town and throw him at my mercy," Aydan chuckled.

"He claims to have been sent here to watch the castle."

Curious, Aydan curved back on her heel, her arms locked under her chest in a stern cross. "Really. Sent to watch what I wonder?"

"Eamon," Kallian grumbled. "He was hired as a spy. You give all elves a bad name," she spat. "You're not worthy of that bow."

The elf scrambled to his feet, dusting off his armor as he turned to Aydan. "Look I'm just trying to get by. Your pretty little friend," he paused at the elven curse Kallian spat at him. "Seems to think that's a crime."

"Depends on your version of getting by," Aydan spoke calmly. "Being paid to spy on someone who suddenly falls very ill is suspicious at best. What do you know about the Arl's condition?"

"What?" the elf gaped, his eyes jumping to the knights surrounding him. "I had nothing to do with that. I was simply paid to keep someone posted on whatever changes conspired here. I never thought I'd get stuck here, hiding from those... things."

She hummed a small response as she took to stalking around the elf, her eyes trailing his entire length. "And who, I wonder, would be willing to pay for someone to spy on Arl Eamon? A name please."

The elf's shoulders slumped. "I don't remember his name. He was a taller fellow. Said he worked for Arl Rendon Howe. Rendon Howe is second to Teryn Loghain. So I didn't do anything wrong!"

How intriguing that Howe and Loghain would put Redcliffe castle under watch once the Arl had fallen ill. A safe bet it seemed, to assume they were behind it. As they were all other trouble in Ferelden.

"Can you use that bow or is it simply for show?"

"What? I'm an elf aren't I? Obviously I can use it."

"Excellent. Perth here will assign you to the militia and I will see you down in the battle tonight. If I don't, it'll be your body we burn in the morning," she threatened with a flash of a grin.

The elf blanched, his eyes turning towards the knight in question.

Aydan turned to her companions. "We should get some rest before the battle tonight. Were there any rooms in the tavern?" she asked Morrigan.

"Three left that they put aside for us to use."

"There's a few hours left before nightfall. We'll split into two shifts. Alistair, Daylen, Morrigan, Sten and I will take the rooms first. The rest of you will take the second break."

-O-O-O-

She couldn't believe their plan had worked. Teagan had been right, that ambush had been quite severe. She couldn't imagine the past two nights being this bad. There wouldn't have been any villagers left to defend. Somehow they had managed to not only survive the attack but protect the town with very few deaths. She turned away from the burning corpse sprawled over the grass to find Wynne hovering over Daylen. He was quite pale, the stain of his blood contrasting against his ashen skin. In the last rush, he'd taken an arrow to the cheek. Before Aydan could even reach him, Wynne had swept him away and began to work on the wound. From the spindling of energy winding through her head she knew when he was healed.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as her hand dropped comfortingly down onto his shoulder.

He turned a bright smile up to her, but she could see how forced it was. The arrow had sliced him from lip to ear and a pink shimmering scar shone under the moonlight. With a frown, she bent down to the ground and lifted the tip of a stray arrow, holding it just beneath her nose. With a wince, she threw it down and turned back to him, her fingers grazing just beneath the wound, down his jaw. She hadn't meant for it to be anything more than a friendly touch, gauging the extent of the wound. She startled when his hand closed over hers, pulling it down and pressing it down against his chest.

"Poison?" he murmured, his eyes appearing almost charcoal in the dark of night.

She nodded, her thoughts mostly centering on how to extract her hand without insulting him.

With a sad smile, he lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed a gentle kiss against her knuckles. It was natural - was it not? - to feel a slight flutter in her stomach at the endearment?

"Now we match," he said, gesturing to the scars she wore on her chest.

Smiling, she gently pulled her hand from his, placing it against her hip. She only hoped Alistair hadn't seen that. The tension between the two of them was growing unsteady with every passing day.

"Daylen," she sighed, well aware of how desperately she needed to address his infatuation. "You and I-"

"Is everyone else alright?" he interrupted her, casting his dark gaze over the land.

"Yes," she answered. "But don't change the topic."

Even though she loathed the idea of this conversation, it needed to be said.

"There is no topic," he told her. "You aren't married to him. That means I still have a chance."

She shook her head, her dark locks spilling over her shoulder, dangling down near her waist. She'd let her hair down after the battle, craving a little freedom. But the moment his attention slid back to the cascades of her hair, she wished she'd left it up. She was not one to tease someone. "I've made my choice," she told him softly as she took a final step away, hoping that it made her point clear.

His gaze locked onto hers, a tiny smile contorting the scar. "For now."

"Daylen," she mumbled but before she could say what she'd intended, Teagan's voice called to her from across the field. A simple smile curved her lips as she glanced back at her friend before hurrying off.

"Teagan, you're well?" she asked. She'd lost track of him for some time throughout the battle. It warmed her heart to see him unharmed.

"Thanks to you and your friends," he acknowledged her, taking her hands into his own. "Come with me, I want to show you something."

He began to pull her up the hill. It was only her hand wrapping around Alistair's as they passed him that forced him to tag along. But it was hard not to notice the grim line set to his lips and the permanent frown that seemed etched into his face. She'd bet Cousland castle he'd seen the exchange with Daylen.

"Beneath the floor of this windmill lies an entrance," he told her. "I believe with the blow we just dealt, I should be able to enter. There's a secret passage that only my family knows of."

Aydan dragged a hand down her tired face. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"Because I knew that's where you'd immediately go. And I needed help protecting the villagers first before we seek out Eamon in the castle."

"You could have simply told me that," she grumbled. "I don't like secrets."

"Forgive me Aydan," he said. "I didn't mean any harm by it. I just did what I thought best."

"Alright, so now you want us to enter the castle?"

"Eamon is in there, somewhere. I think if we can get to him-" The man paused, his eyes widening as he stared over their shoulders. "Maker's breath!"

Aydan and Alistair spun and it was the disheartened sigh that slipped past Alistair's lips that gave her an idea as to who this woman rushing towards them was.

"Teagan! Thank the Maker you yet live!" she called as she ran to him.

"Isolde!" Yes, that was who she figured it would be. "You're alive! How did you...? What has happened?"

"I do not have much time to explain! I slipped away from the castle as soon as I saw the battle was over, and I must return quickly."

Aydan listened closely to their words, hoping to glean some sort of information as to what was happening in the castle.

"I need you to return with me, Teagan. Alone."

A bemused laugh rose from Aydan's throat. Of course she did. "You don't seem very concerned about what's been happening here," Aydan suggested, ignoring the tightened squeeze of Alistair's hand against her arm.

"What? I... who is this woman, Teagan?"

For once someone seemed not to know who she was.

Alistair took a step forward, drawing the attention off of Aydan and onto him. "You remember me, Lady Isolde, don't you?"

"Alistair," she growled. "Of all the... why are you here?"

Aydan's pulse began to race at the tone in her voice. "Is this how all Orlesian's thank the people who saved their town?"

"They are Grey Wardens, Isolde," Teagan cautioned her. "I owe them my life."

"I... I would exchange pleasantries, but... considering the circumstances."

Aydan gave a simple wave, directing her back to Teagan. "By all means, carry on as though we aren't here."

"Aydan..." Alistair murmured.

She wasn't sure what it was about this woman that angered her so easily. Perhaps it was knowing she was the reason Alistair had been orphaned at the Chantry, or the lack of concern she showed for the people of her town, or the way she spoke over them as though they were nothing. It was probably a concoction of the three.

"Lady Isolde... we had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. We must have some answers," Alistair stated calmly as though he had no issue speaking with this woman.

Her face curled as she turned away from Aydan and Alistair and addressed Teagan directly. Aydan's fingers contracted into tight fists as she continually told herself that tearing off the woman's ears would not help matters at all.

"I know you need more of an explanation, but I... don't know what is safe to tell. Teagan, there is a terrible evil within the castle. The dead waken and hunt the living."

"Yes, I believe we figured that part out on our own," Aydan groused, shrugging off Alistair's grip once more. He could caution her all he liked, it wasn't going to work.

Yet, once again the woman ignored her as though she weren't there.

"The mage responsible was caught, but still, it continues. And I think... Connor is going mad. We have survived but he won't flee the castle. He has seen so much death! You must help him Teagan! You are his uncle. You could reason with him, I do not know what else to do."

Aydan had had enough. "Perhaps someone can explain to me why you feel his uncle could talk sense into him when his own mother cannot?"

Of course, there had been times where Oren had listened only to Aydan and not his mother. But in a time of crises, she doubted any child would not look to his mother for guidance. She wasn't surprised when there was no answer to her question.

"Alright, fine, my next question. What can you tell us about this mage you mentioned?"

"He is an... infiltrator, I think - one of the castle staff. We discovered he was poisoning my husband. That is why Eamon fell ill."

Ah, so finally there were some answers being given.

"Eamon was poisoned?" Teagan repeated.

"He claims an agent of Teryn Loghain hired him. He may be lying, however, I cannot say."

"He's not," Aydan confirmed. "We found an elf in the tavern that had been hired by Rendon Howe to watch the castle for any signs of change. That would suggest to me they were watching to ensure Eamon did not wake."

She shrugged. "For Connor's sake, I promised I would return quickly and only with Teagan."

Aydan latched onto the one word in that sentence that didn't fit. "Promised? Promised who?"

"Something the mage unleashed. So far it allows Eamon, Connor, and myself to live."

"Oh Maker, a demon," Alistair murmured next to her and silently she agreed. It had to be.

"The others... were not so fortunate. It's killed so many and turned their bodies into walking nightmares! Once it was done with the castle, it struck the village. It wants us to live, but I do not know why. It allowed me to come for you, Teagan, because I begged, because I said Connor needed help."

"It wants you alive to continue feeding off you, growing stronger," Aydan told her as she turned to Alistair with a grim look set upon her face.

"I can't let it hurt my Connor!" she shouted. "You must come back with, Teagan, please!'

"The king is dead," he spoke. "And we need my brother now more than ever. I will return to the castle with you, Isolde."

"Oh, thank the Maker! Bless you, Teagan, bless you!"

"I will confer with Aydan and Alistair for a moment and join you at the bridge," he told her and they all watched as she smiled and left.

"This is foolish," Aydan snapped. "If you enter that castle, the demon will take you as well. You do not know what you are dealing with."

"Be calm," he whispered to her. "This is what I propose. I go in with Isolde and you enter the castle using the secret passage. My signet ring unlocks the door. Perhaps I will... distract whatever evil is inside and increase your chances of getting in unnoticed. What do you say?"

"What do I say?" she laughed breathlessly. "Do we still have a choice in the matter? This demon must be purged from the castle and we require Eamon to help fight the Blight. As much as I would like to give that woman Isolde to the demon, it wouldn't be right. So... I say hand over your ring."

"Eamon is the priority here," he warned her. "If you have to, just get him out of there. Isolde, me, and everyone else... we're expendable."

"You can stop with that talk right now," she growled angrily at him. "I will rescue all of you, I swear it."

"You are a good woman, Aydan. Your father would be very proud of you. The Maker smiled on me indeed when he sent you to Redcliffe."

She watched as he moved towards the bridge, calling for Isolde as he did.

"This isn't going to end well," she murmured to Alistair as they left to call the rest of their group together. She wasn't sure what it was she was sensing, but the dread in the depth of her stomach spoke volumes.

* * *

><p>AN: Chapter 30! Woo! I hope everyone is still enjoying the story. And thanks again to everyone.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

_Maker, my enemies are abundant._  
><em> Many are those who rise up against me.<em>  
><em> But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,<em>  
><em> Should they set themselves against me.<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

The tunnels reminded her painfully of the Deep Roads only these ones were smaller, darker, and danker, if that was even possible. Her skin was unmistakably crawling, her fingers caressing the hilts. At every sound of a rock skipping down their path or dust sprinkling to the ground, she startled. She was grateful that she'd only taken a small company; the halls were much too tiny for everyone.

Alistair had been the obvious choice; he knew these people and cared about what happened to them. Daylen had volunteered, much to Alistair's disappointment. Morrigan hadn't wanted to sit around playing keeper to those injured; she claimed that was Wynne's job. And Farkas she couldn't leave behind even if she _had_ wanted to. The hound was as ever loyal, even his steps brushed directly against her thigh, his nose constantly butting against her hand as though he sensed her discomfort. Which, as her mabari, seemed likely. It was strange to have such a small group with her. But Leliana and Kallian were helping bandage wounds, assisting Wynne with healing the injured. Sten felt it foolish to impregnate the castle and opted to remain with the women, to protect them he mentioned, in case another attack occurred while they were otherwise indisposed. As Oghren and Sten seemed inseparable, where the qunari went, the dwarf followed. And so that left her with two mages, Alistair, and her mabari. At this point, from the heavy tension blanketing the back of her tongue, she would have traded either Alistair or Daylen for one of Leliana or Kallian. The two, when struggling in vain to avoid one another's eyes, were silently glaring at one another.

"Did you hear that?" Daylen mused, his voice breaking over her like a wave of water.

Her fingers tightened on her hilt as she listened.

A door stood before them, dilapidated and hanging from its only remaining hinge. She pressed forward, a tiny step, and peeked through the open hole.

"Two," she whispered to her party with a relieved sigh. "Morrigan and Daylen, take them out from here."

She'd grown accustomed to the energy that accompanied their every spell. It no longer set her teeth on edge as their will passed through her. Together they cast whatever spell they had chosen and the two creatures at the end of the tunnel dropped like bags of sand, their bones falling to shambles as whatever magic held them together dissipated.

"Is... is someone there?" she heard a panicked voice as fingers wrapped around the cold steel bars of the dungeon.

"Maker," she hissed. "They've locked someone down here."

She rushed forward, vaguely aware of Daylen's words of caution, begging her to come back. The moment she came in sight of the cell, she found yet another mage, blood dried into his woollen robes, staring out from the bars.

"By all that's holy... you! I can't believe it!"

Her eyes narrowed on the obviously distressed man, wondering who it was he was referring to when Daylen's scent drifted over her.

"Jowan," her friend sneered in a resentful voice, his fingers curving over Aydan's shoulders and drawing her away from the bars and closer into his chest.

A slight choking sound drew her attention to Alistair who was glaring openly at the man's hands. Now was not the time for irrational jealousy. She let her own hand fall onto his, feeding him a calming smile. She knew Daylen hadn't meant anything by it. It was simply to pull her out of the mage's reach.

"Maker's breath! How did you get here? I never thought I'd see _you_ again, of all people."

She had a feeling who this was, Daylen's former words of how he helped a mage escape the Circle echoing through her.

She cast a glance up to him. "Your friend?" she asked.

"Former," he growled, his voice thick with hate.

Which meant they were staring eye to eye with a blood mage. It seemed odd that he'd remained locked up. She'd heard such stories of everything a malificar could do. Certainly cell bars wouldn't stay in the way, even with regular magic. A simple spell could have the door blown off its hinges. As though realizing the same thing, Daylen's hand directed her towards Alistair before he slid before her, shielding her with his body as though he worried Jowan would attack.

"Daylen-" the mage started.

"What did they do to you?" he asked, though his tone suggested he didn't care in the least.

"What they'd do to all traitors, and would-be assassins. I wouldn't be surprised if they sent you to finish me off."

"And you would deserve it!" Daylen hissed at him, his own fingers reaching out to clutch at the bars, shimmers of heat rising from the palms of his hand. Perhaps he had meant to direct her from his path of magic and not the blood mage's. Alistair's hands tightened over hers as he pulled her flush against him and swept Morrigan back behind him as well.

"I know," the blood mage confessed as his head dropped forward. "I poisoned the arl. For all I know, he's dead already."

"Well he's not - at least not yet."

"He's not?" Jowan gasped, his eyes rising to meet theirs. "That's a relief. I can't tell you how much."

"So you have one less soul on your conscious," Daylen growled. "But that does nothing to free you from the others. What you did-"

"I know!" Jowan interrupted him. "Please I know how it seems. Poisoning the arl was... a terrible thing. But I'm not behind everything else happening here. I swear!"

"Like you swore to me you weren't a blood mage? How can I trust anything you say?"

"You can't," he said with a shrug. "Daylen, please we were friends once. I need to know. You can do whatever you feel you need to afterward, but I need to know... What became of Lily? They didn't hurt her, did they? The thought that she might had paid for my crime..."

"She did pay for you crime!" Daylen shouted, the waves of heat melting through the bars. "She trusted you, as I did. They sent Lily to Aeonar, Jowan! You know what that place is. She'd be lucky to have lived past her first night. The mages locked away there do not take kindly to any of the Chantry. And she was imprisoned there, because of you! Because you claimed to love her! And what about me, Jowan? No concern as to what the templars did to me? I was forced into solitary for months! You know..." the mage was shaking as his anger spun out of control, electricity suddenly crackling from the tips of his fingers as sparks shot down, darkening the soil at his feet. Aydan stepped away from Alistair, brushing away his hands as he reached for her, and approached Daylen. He was so close to losing control, she could feel it. "You know how the templars are with mages in solitary, when there's no one there to help us. The only reason I'm alive is because the Circle was destroyed. I'd still in be solitary if not for Uldred... in the dark, with _them_."

"Lily... Daylen..." the mage wept, his shoulders shaking as the verbal lashing struck him over and over. "What have I done?"

The scent of seared ozone hovered between them, his will flowing of its own accord through his veins. "Daylen," she whispered.

She flinched back a step the moment those dark eyes slammed through her, flickers of electricity streaking through his eyes. She had never seen a mage lose control before. It would be a lie if she claimed she wasn't frightened. With a steadying breath, her let her hand curve over his forearm. As she ran her fingers down his skin, the bolts flickered, but it would not sway her. Regardless of his anger with this man, she knew killing him would not sit well with him. The moment her fingers brushed against the ridge of his wrist, his will vanished, the magic snuffed from the dark confines as quickly as a single breath of air. She finished her movement, taking his hand into hers and offered silent comfort. His chin trembled as what she could only imagine were memories flooded over him. Finally, with a nod he turned as though to walk away.

"What happens now?" Jowan demanded, his eyes tracking Daylen.

"What happens now?" Daylen repeated as he cast a tired glance over his shoulder. "You sit here and rot. You deserve no better. While we figure out how to get to the bottom of all this."

"I... I know it looks suspicious Daylen, but I swear to you, I'm not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned when all that began. At first Lady Isolde came here with her men demanding that I reverse what I'd done. I thought she meant my poisoning of the arl. That was the first I heard about the walking corpses. She thought I'd summoned a demon to torment her family and destroy Redcliffe. She... had me tortured. There was nothing I could do or say that would appease her. So they... left me to rot."

"How did you even manage to get close enough to poison the arl?" Aydan questioned.

"Connor... had started showing signs-"

She felt Alistair startle next to her. "Connor, a mage?"

"The arlessa wanted a mage outside the circle who could teach Connor enough to hide his talents. Loghain used that bit of information to hire me to poison the arl. He claimed that Arl Eamon was a threat to Ferelden, that if I dealt with him Loghain would settle matters with the Circle for me. But he abandoned me here, didn't he? Everything's fallen apart. I never thought it would like this! Maker, I've made so many mistakes, I disappointed so many people... I wish I could go back and fix it. I just want to make everything right again."

"It's too late for that," Daylen growled in a deep voice. "Let's go."

"Wait," Jowan called once more. "You're just going to leave me here?"

"You poisoned an arl!" Daylen raved. "You're a fugitive blood mage! Because of you Lily is probably dead. You deserve nothing more."

"I... I understand. I'll stay here and wait here. Good luck," the blood mage whispered as he pressed his back against the wall and slid down to the floor, his filthy robes bunching between his legs.

It was Daylen that led them from the room, his anger swirling around him with a force of its own.

-O-O-O-

She had known it wasn't going to end well from the first moment she'd heard about the demon in the castle. But the very last thing she had expected was to find out it had manifested in a young boy, the same age as her Oren. It seemed so wrong that death would hover above such young ones. Taunted with the promise of life and loving parents only to be slaughtered like some beast. Jowan's words hung in the air; blood magic was their only option to save the boy. All because she had failed to save the First Enchanter and the mages that had been in that chamber. There was no Circle to supply them with the lyrium needed to send one of the mages into the fade. All that left was a blood ritual, which, if Jowan's words were true, required a death. She'd turned desperately to Morrigan, praying to the Maker that she knew of another way.

"This malificar's words are true," she deemed. "Without lyrium, it is the only way to enter the fade if that is your desire."

Her desire? The words tasted rotten upon her tongue. Her desire was for none of this to have happened. These people might not have been Alistair's true family, but they were as close as he was going to get. And her choices were to murder the boy to remove the demon, or take his mother's life in order to enter the fade and vanquish the demon from within. How was she to make such a choice? She was not meant to have such power over life and death.

Alistair's hand had gone cold against hers, a slight tremor working its way through his body.

"Please Lady Cousland," Isolde begged of her. "From one woman to another. You cannot take my son. I am offering you my life as payment. Is that not enough?"

"Isolde," Teagan sighed.

"No Teagan. This is my fault, as you pointed out. I tried to keep Connor hidden from the Circle and look where it has gotten us. My son was possessed by a demon. A _demon_! I am his mother. It is my job to protect him. Let the mage work the ritual on me and save Connor's life."

"And what will Eamon say if - when - he should wake?"

"He will understand. He would do the same for our son."

Aydan's fingers slid from Alistair's as she pinched her brow. Why was it everywhere they went destruction and despair followed?

"I need a moment," she said as she turned and walked from the room, Alistair's steps hot on her heel.

She led him to a study directly across the hall. But when the door slammed shut behind her, she flinched and spun to find enraged eyes burning down on her.

"Do not tell me you are actually entertaining this idea!" he demanded, his arm sweeping heavily back to indicate the chambers behind them.

"Alistair, please," she murmured, her head aching with her own anger.

"No!" he spat as he turned and began to pace before the desk. "This is madness Aydan. We cannot murder Isolde!"

"Then that leaves... Connor," she whispered.

"What is wrong with all of you!" he raged. She'd never seen him so upset before. "So willing to murder an innocent!"

"The only innocent one in all of this is Connor."

"So that justifies it?" he demanded. "What would your father say? Hearing you speak like this?"

She recoiled from his words as though she'd been slapped, her lips parting in horror.

"And your nephew! You know what it's like to find them in ashes. How can you _do _this?"

Her fingers curled into fists as she struggled to calm. He was just upset, she knew that. Yet his poisoned words burned more than any blade.

"What choice do we have?" she questioned. "Without lyrium, this is our only option to save Connor!"

"Blood magic," he ranted. "How can two wrongs make a right? Do you even hear yourself?"

"Alistair, we must do what we have to. This demon cannot be allowed safe passage to continually plague the people of Redcliffe. I see no other option. It is for the good of Ferelden."

His darkened gaze slammed into hers, his mouth curled down in disgust. "I can't believe I'm hearing this from _you_! You sound like Loghain," he hissed, his face eerily beautiful in anger.

Spinning on his heel, Alistair stormed off, the final bang of the main hall door staggering her back a step. Tears pricked at her eyes. Part of her knew his heated, unkind words came from his anger at the situation but it did nothing to soothe her aching heart.

A cushion conformed beneath her as she lowered down into a chair, her fingers trembling against the hard wood of the arm rest. It seemed the decision would fall to her then. Someone's life would come to an end and she felt the burden of that weight. Had she not failed to rescue the tower in time, this wouldn't be an issue. As it was... it seemed not only did she have to choose who to murder, but that she might have lost Alistair as well.

"Aydan?" a soft voice came from the doorframe. She glanced up just as her tears welled over and spilled down her cheeks.

Daylen's small smile offered very little comfort. He stepped within the room, the door clicking shut quietly before he crossed towards her.

"He's right," she murmured impassionedly. "Everything he said. How am I any better than Loghain, or Howe? I'm sitting here contemplating murdering a woman whose only crime was trying to protect her son and give him a life you never had."

His fingers fell on the back of her hand. "These are trying times, indeed. But you are nothing like Loghain or Howe. Granted I have not met them but I doubt they mourned over their choices. What we must do here is to save the lives of many. I know the burden you feel, but sometimes these things must be done."

She dropped her head down into her hands, her tears wetting the inside of her palms. Whatever she chose, it would push Alistair away, and she would have to carry it to her grave.

"How am I to decide this?" she sobbed.

"I think you already know the right choice," he told her, his hands cupping over hers as he drew them away from her face. His eyes softened as he gazed at her, his fingers rising and brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, tucking it softly behind her ear.

With a desperate sigh, she rose from the chair and crossed back across the hall, this time with Daylen following close by.

"Well?" Isolde asked. "Will you let me save my son?"

She would not look away from her pleading eyes. If she was to condemn someone to death, she would do it bravely. She gave a small nod and called Jowan over.

"Who will enter the fade?" he asked.

"I will," Daylen offered before Aydan could ask who would volunteer. "I've gone before when I did my Harrowing. I know what to expect."

"Thank you," Isolde crooned to her. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, arlessa," Aydan sighed, her hatred for the woman vanishing with the realization that she was about to die.

"Tell Alistair..." she paused. "Tell Alistair, this was my choice, not yours."

Aydan's eyes flicked up to her. "You heard?"

"He is not a quiet boy when he disagrees with something, he never was. Just remember he is a good man. I may not know him as well I should, but I know his heart."

All that did was remind Aydan that she was the cause of most of Alistair's childhood. She gave a brusque nod before turning to Jowan. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Then let's finish this."

The battered mage stepped forward and reached for one of the shorter blades sheathed to Aydan's side. Her fingers encircled his wrist instantly, the feel of how frail he was drawing her eyes down. She could have snapped his wrist in half.

"I need a blade for this," he told her, wincing at her final squeeze before she released him.

"You better not screw this up," Daylen hissed to him as he stood next to Aydan's side.

He stepped away from the two of them, the blade clutched desperately in his hands. "I won't. I swear to you Daylen, I will make up for what I've done."

"You'll never make up for it," Daylen judged him. "Now get started."

The blood mage approached Isolde and started muttering a foreign incantation under his breath. Aydan's eyes however were all for Isolde who crouched near the floor, her hands clasped within one another, rocking as she prayed to the Maker for guidance to his side. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to know your death was coming. To wait for the final blow, knowing it would soon be dealt.

A gentle light formed around her, casting an iridescent glow to her skin. If this was the Maker guiding her, it was rather beautiful. Blood magic, she couldn't see what the commotion was about, it seemed like all other magic, an incantation, some light appearing from nowhere, and done. That was, until Jowan let out a shout beyond anything she had ever heard. Isolde was plucked from the ground, her chest arching sickeningly towards the vaulted ceiling. Aydan hadn't even seen the dagger move and yet, it stuck out from the center of her chest. The shimmer of light surrounding Isolde ran red with blood. There was no sound, no cries, no sobs, nothing as she hovered over them, trapped within the hold of his magic.

Daylen jerked next to her just as Isolde plummeted back down to the ground, his hands clutching at Aydan as he fell.

"Daylen!" she cried, dropping to her knees by his side.

"He's fine," the mage panted. "He's in the fade now."

She cast a dark glance up at the blood mage. "If he dies, so do you."

"I understand," he told her sadly, his eyes trailing the pool of blood darkening the tiled floor.

* * *

><p>AN: So we start to learn that our little Daylen did not have the best of time in solitary. Enjoy :)


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Griffons are now thought to be extinct, though they once served as mounts for the Grey Wardens, who still use a griffon as their symbol. The number of griffons slowly dwindled after the fourth Blight, before finally becoming extinct 200 years prior to the outbreak of the Fifth Blight in 9:30 Dragon.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

She had sent Morrigan back to Redcliffe hours ago with the instruction of rounding up all the companions and leading them to camp. When this was finished, she wanted out of Redcliffe immediately. Sitting around listening to people rejoice over their win seemed inappropriate now. Jowan had been returned to his cell for the time being until they found a way to wake the arl. It seemed he didn't know a way to reverse his poisons. As for Ser Perth, he and his knights were dealing with Isolde's body. With Daylen unconscious on the floor next to her, that left Teagan and Aydan simply sitting and waiting. She had no idea how long the process was meant to take but with every passing second, she grew more and more concerned. What if the demon had won? Niall had looked to be sleeping when last they woke from the fade just as Daylen did now.

The two of them had decided only moments ago that she would take up the task he had issued Eamon's knights, seeking out the Urn of Andraste. The ashes within were rumoured to heal any ailment. They both prayed that it would be enough to rouse Eamon.

"He is in love with you, you know," Teagan spoke, breaking the silence that had settled over them since their previous conversation ended.

Her smile was soft. "Maybe one day he could have. But I doubt after this, he will."

Teagan's grin flashed at her. There had been a time once, long ago, when she'd developed a nasty infatuation with this man. Of course, they'd both been much younger. Hers had been the cause of adolescent hormones for an older man. If he was ever aware of it, he never let on. But for some reason, seeing him seated before her, his hands placed loosely in his lap, she was reminded of this.

"I wasn't referring to Alistair," he told her. "Though I am quite positive there are strong feelings there as well. I was referring to this one," he said, pointing at Daylen. "It's rather obvious. He moves around you subconsciously. With a simple shift, he adapts to your stance. Always watching, there's a hardness to his eyes that softens whenever he looks upon you."

She had recently noticed that too. She hadn't realized how angry he was when he wasn't around her. But little things had begun to take form before her. How he rarely spoke to the other companions, constantly glaring at Alistair, and how enraged he had become with Jowan. There was a past to him that she was sure plagued him as surely as her nightmares.

"Yes," she said with a nod.

"But you don't reciprocate those feelings?" he asked.

She shook her head, her locks tumbling about her shoulders.

"You need to tell him this," Teagan counselled her.

She let a sigh slip as she glanced down on the mage asleep at her side. "He knows. We've somewhat had this discussion."

"And?"

She couldn't help but laugh softly as she shook her head. "He claims since Alistair and I are not married, he still has a chance."

Teagan nodded. "Men's hearts are not easily swayed. I fear you may have to let this play out."

"There's nothing to play out," she murmured. "You heard Alistair, saw him storm out of here. I doubt he'll ever speak to me again after all this."

Before Teagan could respond, the mage at her side let out a gasping breath and his eyes flashed open. Aydan's hands fell upon him as she helped him up, ready to brace him in case he stumbled. She remembered when she awoke from the fade, disorientated and sore.

"It's done," he informed them.

Just as the words left his lips, a child's squeal sounded from the top of the stairs.

"I should-" Teagan faltered at another cry, this time a sob for his mother before he rose to his feet and rushed towards the child.

"Just relax here for a moment," she told him as she helped him over to a chair. "I'll be right back."

She chased after Teagan to find him cradling the young boy in his arms, crooning lightly to him under his breath while he cried for his mother.

Teagan turned to her with tears welling within his own eyes. "How am I to tell him?" His hand curved over the back of the child's head, his fingers trailing through his hair.

"I'm not sure," she responded calmly, trailing her hand over the boy's back, rubbing gentle circles. It's what she had done to Oren when he was upset and it always seemed to work.

Slowly the boy's sobs waned until all that remained were hiccups. "Where's father?" he murmured into Teagan's shoulder.

"He's in his chambers," Teagan told him. "He's still sick."

"But he's alive?"

Teagan nodded. "We can go see him if you'd like?"

"And mother?"

Aydan backed off the moment Teagan turned those eyes to her again. "I should take him up. Explain to him..."

She nodded. "I'll take Daylen back to camp. We'll start in the morning to search for Andraste's Urn. Do you have any recommendations where to begin?"

"The last bit of information I heard was that a scholar by the name of Genitivi was investigating the Urn. Perhaps he knows where it is located. I believe he lives in Denerim."

_Denerim_, she thought with a sigh. A week's travel at the least. Beyond that, there'd be nobles in Denerim. It was the last place she wanted to go. But with a short nod, she turned and left, the sound of Teagan murmuring to the boy chasing her out the hall.

"Come on," Aydan murmured as she turned to find Daylen slouched in the chair. "I would like to leave this place now."

She slung his arm over her shoulder, though it did little to help as he towered over her, and started to lead him from the room. Alistair's face flashed through her mind and she winced, fearing what mood she'd return to him in.

It did not take long at all to return to the camp they had chosen nearby. She ensured Daylen could walk on his own before they entered. Somehow she figured it wouldn't do to help the situation with Daylen leaning on her as they returned. She even placed a few strides between them. But the camp was deathly silent, the only one out and about was Sten as he sat at the fire, clearly keeping watch.

She paused outside Alistair's tent on the way to her own, her fingers brushing against the material. She debated calling out to him but the fear of his response kept her silent. Her heavy sigh was quiet as she backed off and turned to her own tent, disappearing beyond the flaps.

-Alistair-

Her shadow had hovered over him, the light from his lantern illuminating her through the thin fabrics. He felt... ashamed. The way he had spoken to her, his words and accusations... He had held her to blame for a situation far beyond her control. Something that wasn't even her fault. He'd just been so infuriated over the situation. Had Isolde not tried to keep Connor secret, there would have no need for a mage outside the Circle, who then wouldn't have poisoned the arl, Connor wouldn't have made a deal with the demon, and everyone would still be alive.

But seeing now that Aydan had returned, that meant it was done. All that remained to find out was the result. He had a feeling Aydan would have approved Isolde's sacrifice. Her words had rung true when she claimed the only innocent one was Connor.

The only noise beyond his tent was the crackling of the fire. And then came her sigh, as heavy as his heart, as she backed away and left. Shame laid him back against his bed, staring up at the top of his ceiling. Clearly she didn't want to talk to him and he couldn't blame her. It had been Morrigan, of all people, to scold him on their return to camp.

"_Fool templar, your words only prove how naive you are. I would watch your tongue lest you lose the one last good thing in your life, not that I care_."

He'd had a scathing remark, one that he hoped would put this witch in her place once and for all, when he realized she was right. With the ebb of his anger came the sinking realization that there was nothing else Aydan could have done. She'd had no Circle to petition for assistance, no lyrium in which to enter the fade, and only the word of that blood mage. She'd been trying to save people's lives and he had accused her of disappointing her father. He winced even as he thought on it. It wasn't the first time he'd done something he eventually regretted and he doubted it would be the last, but he knew he couldn't simply lie there, wallowing. The longer he waited, the harder it would be to apologize.

Pushing off his bed, he rose and slid his feet into his boots, taking his time to lace them up as he thought on his words. He expected to find her sitting before the fire, but all he found was Sten, who barely even looked up at his approach. He turned towards her tent, wondering if she had retired already for the night. With his first step, another head poked out of a third tent, the aged hair of Wynne directing his gaze. She fed him a withered smile before she slowly approached him.

"Alistair, might I have a word?" she questioned.

His brows collected in a knot as he watched her. She'd been of use to the group, of course, darning clothing, healing wounds, but not once had she singled anyone out for a private conversation.

He looked to Aydan's tent once more, about to ask Wynne if it could wait when her hand closed down on his arm and drew him towards a separate quarter of land.

"I won't take but a moment of your time," she promised.

Silently, he trudged after her and pulled up a flat looking rock to settle himself against. The mage paced before him, casting a few uneasy glanced his way.

"I've been meaning to speak to you of Aydan."

His gaze narrowed on her but he still held his tongue.

"I know you two are quite taken with one another. It's hard not to notice the doe-eyed looks you give her, especially when you think no one is watching. It's almost too sweet for my tastes and I'm an old lady who should be making lace hearts and fuzzy blankets with animal motifs."

He straightened, his lips curving into a playful smile. "Could you make me one of those? With a griffon perhaps?"

"What?" she questioned softly, turning so those aged eyes could stare at him. "A griffon blanket?"

He nodded happily. "Could you imagine? I'd be the only Warden with a griffon!"

"But they're extinct..."

"So they say. Personally, I doubt it."

"You doubt fact?" her brow narrowed in shock.

He gave a shrug, hoping to deter the mage from whatever it was she was planning to berate him about. "Just because they haven't found one in centuries doesn't mean they are entirely extinct."

"You divert my thoughts," she sighed.

"I do my best," he grinned naturally. There was something fun about irritating this old woman. If he'd ever known his mother, he would have liked to think she'd be something like her. And he'd imagine it would have been just as easy to infuriate her.

"I did not bring you hear to discuss griffon motif blankets-"

"But if you _could_ make one, you'd give it to me right? Right? Aww," he drifted off, watching with a crooked smile as her cheeks tinged pink with exasperation.

"Maker's breath Alistair! I meant to talk to you about Ayden, not griffons!"

"Then by all means," he said with a gentle sweep of his hand, instantly distracted the moment his fingers caressed against something soft and chilled.

Wynne turned away from him, her lips already racing as words poured from them but Alistair found he wasn't listening. His eyes were all for the one single lily he had just struck. He cast his gaze over the land, no other flowers were nearby, just this single little bloom. Its petals were a creamy light pink, the center a couple shades darker. But it was the creamy light pink that caught his eye and with a slight frown he reached towards the petals, caressing it gently. It reminded him of Aydan, so beautiful and graceful, while struggling to find a way through the mess of the Blight. He cast a cursory glance up towards the sky, noting the darkening clouds in the distance as the threat of the Blight loomed closer. A single flower such as this would not survive the impending darkness and decay that was headed in this direction. For a moment he debated plucking it from the ground and taking it with him for his apology. She hardly seemed the flower sort, until he remembered something she had told him in Orzammar: "_Don't get me wrong, I like flowers-_".

"Alistair!" Wynne shouted.

He snapped his attention back to her, a chagrined blush spreading over his cheeks at the sight of her hovering in front of him, her hands balanced precariously on her hips.

"Have you even been listening to a word I've said?"

"Oh sure," he smiled. "Something about lace hearts and fuzzy blankets with animal motifs. Then we talked about griffons and..." he drifted off at the cross look darkening her face.

"That was almost five minutes ago! Maker's breath, how you were chosen as a Grey Warden..."

"Hey..." he whined.

"I was trying to explain to you how dangerous having a relationship at a time like this is."

"Got it," he grinned as he plucked the flower and rose to his feet. "Listen Wynne, I'd love to continue this conversation but I really do need to discuss something with Aydan."

The woman was seething, he could see it but he didn't understand why.

"Of course you do," she growled. "Go, I see this talk is absolutely pointless with you."

"Right," he said as he turned, wondering if he'd just been insulted or not. Halfway to Aydan's tent, he spun around and dashed back to Wynne. "Can you do me a favor?"

"I swear to the Maker, Alistair," she sighed. "If you ask again for a griffon motif blanket..."

He chuckled as he extended his hand. "Can you preserve this?"

The woman slanted back, her eyes trailing the flower in his hand. Finally, she gave a small nod before she swept her stave out and a rush of magic poured over his skin. The flower seemed to reach out its petals before settling perfectly in the palm of his hand.

"Perfect, thanks Wynne!"

"Oh don't thank me," she grumbled as she slipped back into her tent, her complaints swallowed by the folds of her tent. Alistair chuckled under his breath as he turned back towards Aydan's tent, hoping that she'd be willing to listen.

There was no sound coming from within. He debated calling out to her but instead with a steadying breath, he slid silently through the tent flaps.

His eyes trailed her length on the bedroll, her dark locks spilling over her pillow. But where he expected to find her staring up at him, he found her asleep. While his desire to speak with her was almost stifling, he found himself staring. For once, it seemed she had found a peaceful sleep. Even with the events of the day. No matter what he longed for, he couldn't wake her. It had been so long since she had found any peace at all.

With a soft smile, he quietly crossed over to her bedroll and placed the lily by her head on the pillow. His fingers brushed back a stray lock of hair that had slipped over her face and he bent down to brush a light kiss across her brow.

"Alistair?" came her muffled voice from under the covers.

He sat back on his haunches. "I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry... for everything," he confessed as those startling eyes turned up to him.

From the edge of her covers he caught a slight smile. A large fist tightened around his heart. For someone so fierce, she sure forgave rather quickly. He rose, about to leave when he caught her shuffles. She slid to the very back edge of the bedroll and lifted the covers. The void next to her sang to him. What could he possibly have done in his life to deserve her, he had no idea. But instead of questioning it, he moved the lily over to her pack before lowering down onto the bedroll with her. The moment he settled, she turned over, her lithe little body snuggling perfectly against his.

A few moments passed while he relished in the feel of her body conforming to his, her deep breathing informing him she had dropped off once more. There was a slight twitch to her arm and tension curling her fingers inwards. He pressed his mouth to the back of her neck and tightened his hold on her, hoping to drive away whatever nightmares he felt rising to the surface.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

_Those who bear false witness_  
><em>And work to deceive others, know this:<em>  
><em>There is but one Truth.<em>  
><em>All things are known to our Maker<em>  
><em>And He shall judge their lies.<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"I'm going to get some sleep," Alistair mentioned as he brushed a gentle kiss against Aydan's cheek and rose to his feet. There were only the three of them seated around the fire; Leliana, Aydan, and Alistair. But Aydan and Leliana were on shift.

"Goodnight," she murmured softly to him, smiling coyly as he brushed his fingers against her jaw and retreated to his tent.

"So... you and Alistair," Leliana began as she stretched out, watching Aydan through the flickering flames.

"Alistair and I...?" she let it drift.

"Looking all contented together again, coy looks and soft caresses. Do not think we have not noticed."

Aydan shook her head, turning away from Leliana's piercing gaze.

"He must be quite good in bed," she giggled. "All athletic and so obedient."

Aydan choked on her next breath, her gaze slamming into the young woman's across the camp. "I hardly see how that's any of your business," yet she felt how hot her cheeks had grown.

"Ooh," Leliana cooed. "So you have _not_ tasted our templar in that way yet. How romantic."

"Maker's breath, Leliana," she sighed. "We shouldn't be speaking of this."

"Why not? It's just us girls here. No prying eyes, all are tucked firmly into their beds."

Aydan shook her head. She was not going to indulge such behaviour. "How would Kallian feel if I started asking you those sorts of questions?"

"Amused, I would imagine," she laughed gently, poking a stick into the fire.

Aydan highly doubted that.

"Fine, fine," Leliana conceded. "Keep your secrets to yourself."

"Thank you," she mused as she turned her gaze back out towards the shadows among the trees. For the past day or so she'd been certain she'd caught movement more than once, even as they marched towards Denerim. It wasn't darkspawn, she would have felt it in the pit of her stomach. Yet every now and then, there was a shift, a slight ruffling of leaves, or a single crack of a branch. At first she thought it nothing more than a stray animal, but unless this animal was following them, it was safe to say they were being hunted. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone yet, lest she worry them, after all it could simply be a figment of her imagination. She would know soon though.

"Do you miss Highever much?" Leliana asked, breaking the silence once more.

Aydan's eyes remained locked onto the moving shadow as she answered. "Not as much as I did."

"I am sure the whisper of your heart has much to do with that."

"Oh Leliana," Aydan sighed, her eyes darting to the young woman once more before returning to the tree line. "What about you? Do you miss Orlais?"

"Very much so. Ferelden is nice enough, but as Sten says, there is only so much wet dog one can take before missing home."

"Then why did you leave?"

From the corner of her eye, Aydan noticed the young woman shift uncomfortably in her seat. Her lips curled in amusement. Apparently she wasn't the only one that could put someone on the spot. "You really don't want to know my story."

"Why not?" she chuckled. "Everyone knows mine."

"The Chantry did not pry, you should not."

"Ah," Aydan mused. "So there is a story."

The woman's lips curved into a gentle smile. "Isn't there always."

"So it would seem."

With a sigh, Leliana turned away from the fire, her cast lingering on the edges of her tent as though she longed to retire herself. "I... came to Ferelden and the Chantry because I was being hunted, in Orlais."

Aydan's eyes narrowed on her as she listened. How many of the people she had accumulated weren't hunted before joining her little band of merriment? She wanted to ask what for, but knew Leliana would continue. She was a natural story teller.

"I was framed, betrayed by someone I thought I knew and could trust. Marjolaine - she was my mentor... and friend. She taught me the bardic arts - how to enchant with words and song, to carry myself like a high-born Lady, to blend in as a servant. The skills I learned I used to serve her, my bard-master, because I loved her, and because I enjoyed what I did."

"A bard," Aydan mused. That made more sense than she could even comprehend. _Enchant with words and song_, they'd all experienced that already. "This Marjolaine, she was a bard as well?"

"She claimed to have retired. She married a noble and inherited his wealth when he died. To many she was just a rich widow. I thought I knew her. My devotion to her blinded me to her... less than noble attributes. You can say it was my fault. There was a man I was sent to kill. I was to bring Marjolaine everything he carried. I don't know who this man was. She gave me a name and a description, and I hunted him down. I found documents on his body - sealed documents."

"And you opened them," Aydan surmised. The bard had a curiosity about her that she could see easily ruffling a few feathers.

"My curiosity got the better of me. Something told me that I needed to know what was in those letters. Marjolaine... had been selling all kinds of information about Orlais to other countries - Nevarra and Antiva, among others. It was treason."

"Is that not what bards do?" Aydan questioned. That was her knowledge of them at the least.

"Some. But I had always assumed Marjolaine only operated within Orlais. This was an unhappy surprise for me. My life as a bard taught me that my loyalties should be kept fluid. My concern was not that she was a traitor, but that her life would be in danger if she was caught. Orlais had been at war with so many countries. It takes a harsh view of such things... as I later discovered."

"Most countries don't appreciate treason," Aydan suggested, remembering talk from her father with Howe about those charged with treason in Ferelden.

"I should have left well enough alone, but I didn't. I had to tell Marjolaine I feared for her life. She brushed aside my concern. She admitted her guilt, but said it was in the past. That is why the documents had to be destroyed, she said. I believed her. I kept believing, up till the moment they showed me the documents, altered by her hand to make _me_ look the traitor."

"Who are they?"

"The Orlesian guards. They captured me... did terrible things to make me confess and reveal my conspirators. It was a traitor's punishment I endured, and at the end of it, all that awaited me was an eternity in an unmarked grave."

"Yet, here you sit," Aydan commented.

"The skills Marjolaine taught me were good for something, at least. I broke free when I saw the opportunity. I did not seek out Marjolaine. If she thought I was coming for her, she would have caught me again."

"So you came here."

"I was tempted to confront her; I was furious, betrayed, but what could I do against her? And so yes, I fled to Ferelden, to the Chantry and the Maker. Ferelden protected my person and the Maker saved my soul. And that is the reason I am here. The real reason."

"Leliana, you know you will be safe in my company," Aydan assured her gently. "You have friends amongst us."

She slid a thankful glance towards Aydan, the flicker of the firelight reflecting off her chest piece. "It feels good to have this off my chest. Thank you for listening, and understanding."

"We all have colored backgrounds," Aydan murmured. "Take any one of us and there is a story behind why we are here. Some are filled with more tragedy than others, but either way, at a time like this, I've come to realize how much we all need one another."

The bard's lips split into a pleased grin. "These would not have been your words when we first met," she laughed softly. "I believe you would have fed me to your mabari had you learned of my past."

Aydan laughed with her, her memories returning to those darker days when she couldn't see anything beyond pain and despair. "Yes, well I didn't have a Chantry to turn to for solace."

"No, but you found a templar either way," she winked. "It seems the Maker delivers to all those under his watch."

Aydan winced. Aldous had preached to Fergus and her about the maker throughout their entire childhood. And while her family held firm to the belief, Aydan had never really been one to believe the Maker guided her steps. Too many prayers had gone unanswered and too many horrible events had befallen her in the recent days for her to believe anything of the contrary.

"Well," she chuckled, though a tad bitterly. "He can keep his nose to himself. I don't need His hand guiding me."

Leliana seemed to know enough to remain silent, though she settled back against her own log and watched Aydan with deep interest.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

He wasn't ignorant to the low rumblings coming from Farkas, or the heavy hand that Aydan placed on his shoulders, only for moments later to cast her gaze out into the thick of trees surrounding them. She'd been entirely too quiet since they'd packed and left camp after taking three shifts. He'd expected to find her in his bedroll as they had taken to doing each night after their shift, but her side was cold when he woke. Concerned, he'd strapped on his armor and left the tent, about to cross over to hers when he found her sitting before the dwindling fire, those always watchful eyes turned out towards the trees. Even now as they marched towards Denerim - the group in high spirits - she remained silent. Every now and then he'd catch her jaw as it arched out and she _listened_. His lips parted with the intent to question her when a small sound held his tongue. This time he'd heard it, a snapping of a twig.

His fingers brushed gently against hers and they shared a glance and with a nod, she reached for one of her daggers.

"Aydan?" Leliana murmured but Alistair gave the tiniest shake and pointedly turned his eyes to the road ahead. Thankfully she understood and continued her conversation with Sten about Orlesian cookies.

At the next bend in road, Aydan vanished into the brush with Farkas low on her heels. Alistair's eyes traced her as long as he could as he smothered the spark of unease winding through his gut.

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

While her armor was cumbersome, she managed to slide soundlessly through the brush, following after the mabari as he scented their pursuers out. At the sound of hushed voices, the two paused against a gnarled stump.

"_O__ù __est-elle__?_"

Aydan flicked a glance down at Farkas. Orlesians?

"_Je ne sais pas._"

"_Trouver la femme__!_" the largest hissed as the three flanking him spread out in different directions. "_Aller__!"_

These must have been the men she'd heard in the bushes the previous night. And if they were, that meant the Orlesians had been watching Leliana for a while. Her jaw ground down with that realization.

She ducked lower behind the stump when one of the men passed before her, his eyes scouring the road as her companions pressed forward. She tapped Farkas gently on his shoulder and directed him after the others. His tongue wet the back of her hand before he silently dashed off.

"_Ridicule_," the man in front of her sighed.

She heard the shuffling of leathers as the man glanced down at his feet. At first she wondered what he could be doing when his stance shifted, feet spread apart, head thrown back. At the sound of liquid trickling against the understory, she shook her head. How perfect, the man was relieving himself right in front of her.

She allowed him his moment but when he began to shake it off, she crept around the stump and pressed the edge of her blade against his manhood, slowly rising behind him.

"_Merde_," he gasped as his head dropped to glance down at her blade as it brushed against his tender parts.

"I'd be quiet if you want to keep your special area," she hissed in his ear, wondering if he'd even understand her words. "Who are you? And why are you following us?"

The man trembled against her so strongly she had to force her hand to lower a little lest his jitters actually cut him. But the moment her hand dropped, pain blossomed over her jaw and she staggered back, her boots entangling in a snarl of roots. As she hit the padded ground, she swung her dagger up just in time to deflect his. Snarling under his breath, he stomped down. Pressure wound through her wrist as he slammed his foot down on her, her dagger spinning off into the brush as her fingers spasmed.

Her brother had taught her hand to hand combat long ago, but regardless of training a man double her size had the strength required to knock her flat on her back, which was exactly what happened the moment his fist crunched against her cheek.

Fear slithered through her as she shook off her blackened vision and scrambled back in the fallen leaves.

"Think you are a clever one, eh?" he rasped above her.

Aydan let out a cry as she swept out her leg, her steel boot drilling into his knee and driving the man into the ground with his own pained roar. She lunged to her feet just as his arms encircled her waist, a heavy body flattening against her and pulling her back down to the ground. Tiny whimpers escaped her lips as she clawed at his face, struggling to free herself. _Trapped_, that single word echoed through her. It seemed ironic that it would be an Orlesian who killed her instead of darkspawn.

He gathered himself above her, struggling against the flail of her arms as she threw her body to and fro. There was another sharp slap and her cheekbone lit with fire. The painful press of his knees against her wrists drew her thoughts back to the problem at hand as he pinned her arms down into the soil. He reared back with a vicious sneer, his reclaimed blade flashing in the slight flicker of sunlight. Her lips parted but no sound came out. She simply froze and watched as the blade hovered above her neck. His muscles tensed and she knew this was it, when a spray of blood spouted from his mouth, spilling over her face. Her cry was muffled as she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away.

The weight suddenly vanished and her eyes snapped open to find Alistair standing above her, a frighteningly angry scowl knotting his face.

"Alistair," she gasped as she climbed to her feet, glancing down at the man crumpled beside her, the tip of Alistair's blade embedded in the back of his skull.

His arms wound around her and drew her into his chest. "Are you alright?"

She nodded against him, wiping her face against the back of her hand, the cool wetness of his blood smearing over her.

"Don't scare me like that," he whispered fervently as his lips pressed against the top of her head.

She inhaled a deep calming breath, unable to look away from the pool of blood seeping into the soil. "I'll try not to. Where's everyone else?"

"When we heard your shout, I sent them to take care of the others in case they heard you as well. This way," he directed her forwards.

Eventually she began to pick up on other sounds beyond the hammer of her pulse. Harsh French words poured from a young lady's mouth. As their pursuers had been all male, she knew it was Leliana.

The conversation was flowing much too quickly to even understand with heated tones, flourishing hands and Leliana pressing a bloodied blade against the throat of the last man standing.

More than once she caught that bard's name Marjolaine and Leliana demanding as that man had - "_Où__ est-elle_?"

It was one of the very few phrases Aydan knew. Finally the man turned his gaze over to Aydan and sighed. A single word left his lips, heavily accented but easy to understand.

"Denerim."

Leliana followed his gaze, her face paling as her eyes grew wide when she took in Aydan.

"Go," Leliana ordered. "And if I ever see your face again, know mine will be the last you see."

His gaze roamed over the party but eventually he gave a sharp nod and vanished into the thick of the trees.

"Marjolaine," Leliana said.

"I was able to piece that together," Aydan teased lightly. "Good thing we were headed there anyways."

"We will pay her a visit, yes?"

Aydan nodded, listening to her friend's suddenly thick accent after speaking in her native tongue.

"Good. We have some unfinished business it would seem."

-O-O-O-

It mattered not that his tent was cloaked in darkness or that the only light they had to go by was the slight flicker of the campfire from beyond the flaps. He could see her as clearly as if it were day. An exciting side effect of tasting deeply of darkspawn, the night no longer blinded him. He believed it had something to do with the darkspawn surviving in the dark depths of the Deep Roads. Either way, he was not blind to the myriad of colors blooming across her jaw. Somehow it offended him more than the arrows that had riddled her body. These markings were more personal than a darkspawn arrow.

Lips pressed into a thin line, he crossed the length of the tent and allowed his fingers to touch under her jaw, tipping it up towards him. He wasn't unaware of her wince and slight recoil. With a sigh, he leaned down and fished for the damp linens he had brought in. Her entire face was stained with blood; it had clumped in her eyelashes, crusted beneath her bottom lip, and streaked across her cheek. He pressed the cold compress to her face, lightly soaking her skin. He'd told Wynne he'd help Aydan wash off the blood so that she could see the wounds she was healing.

"How did it resort to a fist fight?" he questioned lightly.

A light blush flushed across her cheeks, accompanied by a low groan. "Maker, even that hurts."

His lips curved in a crooked smile, his eyes darting to hers once more as he gently washed off her face. "That's not an answer."

"I... startled him at a rather inopportune moment. There was no time for him to grab his blade." Her fingers rose and gently brushed against the underside of her jaw. "I believe this one was his elbow."

Even he flinched. He'd taken an elbow to the face before, it was quite unpleasant. She was lucky to even have remained conscious. "Dare I ask what sort of inopportune moment you stumbled across?"

She smiled, the corner of her lips faltering. "He was... relieving himself."

"Oh Aydan," he murmured with a small sigh. That certainly would make it difficult to draw a blade right away.

"It's alright," she comforted him_._

"You wouldn't say that if you could see yourself," he growled, tempted to ask for Leliana's small mirror she brought with her everywhere.

"Would you believe me if I said it looks worse than it feels?"

His brows furrowed at his words. "Really," he murmured as he lightly grazed her split lower lip. Before she could stop herself, a low curse fell out. Alistair's eyebrows rose in humor. "That's not very lady like."

"Fergus taught me that one," she mumbled happily. "The first time my mother heard it, she had Nan wash my mouth out with soap. She said ladies must have clean mouths. My mouth soon became the cleanest one in Highever."

Alistair chuckled softly as he continued to hover over her. "I can imagine that."

As he washed off the blood, he found more and more little cuts that only warmed his blood. The worst was a gash that split her eyebrow and as he wet it, her blood started to flow again, dripping down on her eyelid.

"Maker's breath," he sighed. "Why didn't you Smite him?"

Her face flushed once more as she averted her gaze. "I didn't even think about it. I was..."

"Scared?" he finished for her

She wasn't given the opportunity to answer as her tent flaps opened and Daylen entered. Alistair's fingers tightened around the linens.

"What are you doing in here?" he demanded.

Daylen's brow shot upwards. "Hey, if you don't want her healed, I can just leave."

"Of course I want her healed," he snapped. "But my understanding was Wynne would do that."

He gave a small shrug as he crossed the tent and let a whistle out. "Well darling, I'd say you know how to take a few knocks."

Alistair's shoulders tightened as the mage hovered over them and jut his stave forward, pushing Alistair out of the way.

"Just heal her and get out," Alistair growled.

"Mr. Perfect is a bit touchy tonight," Daylen mocked.

"Stop it." Aydan's voice was small but commanding. Alistair tasted blood the moment he gnashed down on his tongue, his fingers digging into his arms to stop him from tearing the mage into little pieces. He loathed the way the man looked at her, his face lighting up whenever she was around. And it wasn't that he was jealous, he had no reason to be. Aydan had never shown an ounce of interest in the mage. He just seriously despised him.

The moment he felt the magic pour through the tent, he forced his shoulders to loosen, as much good as that was. Especially when Daylen's fingers lingered on her jaw, his thumb tracing seductively over her lower lip. Alistair saw red and before he even knew what he was doing, he was standing over the mage he had tossed easily to the ground.

"Alistair!" Aydan gasped as she jumped between them. "He was just checking to make sure my lip was healed."

Alistair snorted, a rather unbecoming sound. "I'm sure that's all it was."

The mage climbed to his feet, his lips twisting into a malevolent smile. "Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't."

"Maybe," he emphasized the word, "Aydan hasn't been clear, but let me be. Back off."

"I don't obey you, templar," Daylen sneered, his face twisting in a vicious knot. "Maybe you should keep that in mind."

With his last word, Daylen spun on his heel and stormed out of the tent.

"Andraste's bleeding sword!" Aydan raved at him. "He was simply trying to help! Did you honestly need to do that?"

"Don't let him fool you," Alistair growled. "He did that just to get a reaction out of me."

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Be that as it may, you didn't need to rise to the occasion!"

Now that her face was healed, he was getting the full brunt of her glare. One that used to terrify him, and remarkably, still did.

"Aydan," he mumbled, staring into her glowing eyes. "I'm sorry," he said even though he didn't truly mean it. There was something oddly satisfying about watching the mage sprawl through the air and crumple to the ground. "I don't know why I let him get to me." Except he did know why; he hated him, pretty simple reasoning.

His fingers curled over her arms and gently led her towards him. She put up very little struggle, something that brought a flicker of a smile to his lips. And when he claimed hers, sealing his apology with something a little more passionate than words, he felt her melt against his body. Ah, so it seemed it was easy to divert this little Cousland's anger. A little spark of knowledge that he filed away for future tiffs.

* * *

><p>AN: On to Denerim! Where we find Bards, guards, a pirate wench and a certain assassin that we all though we'd never see again :D

Sorry if my french is off, it's been awhile! But essentially:

_O_ù_ est-elle_: Where is she?

_Je ne sais pas: _I don't know

_Trouver la femme: _Find the woman

_Aller_: Go!


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

_And then the Maker sealed the gates_  
><em>Of the Golden City<em>  
><em>And there, He dwelled, waiting<em>  
><em>To see the wonders<em>  
><em>His children would create.<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

"I don't think we can all fit in there," Aydan mused as they stared down the small house near the entrance of Denerim.

Leliana turned to them with worried eyes. "I'd rather not take everyone," she murmured. "This is personal. The less, the better."

Aydan wasn't sure of that but she merely nodded. "Who would you like to take with you?"

"Sten," she said as she lifted her eyes to them. "Aydan-"

"I'm coming as well," Kallian sidled up to her.

"No," Leliana whispered. "Kallian if she finds out about you... she's a vindictive woman, she'd do anything to cause me pain."

"Not if she's dead," the small elf growled. "There's nothing you can say to change my mind."

The bard sighed but finally relented and turned to Morrigan with a questioning brow. She nodded as she reached around for her stave.

"Alistair?" Leliana turned to him next.

He gave a slight little tip of his head before stepping forward.

Aydan could see what she was doing. She had chosen the most intimidating members. Kallian, with her length long bow slung over one shoulder, her hair tied back except for a spiked, thick fringe of silver hair shadowing half her face, and a double edged blade tied to her side; Sten, with his hammer the size of his head; and while they'd recently replaced Daylen's circle robes for red steel armor, Morrigan still looked more fearsome in her scant clothing and angry scowl. Of course when you could lob fireballs and command the elements, it mattered not what you wore. As for Alistair and Aydan, their intimidation came from their talents, but any would see them as a threat.

"Eh, sodding great."

"Sorry Oghren," Leliana blushed. "Marjolaine doesn't take dwarves as a threat."

"Then let me show her. I'll have her spitting teeth out of her arse in no time."

"Next time," she smiled gently, dropping a comforting hand down onto his shoulder.

"No healer?" it was Wynne that spoke.

"Just stay close," Aydan told her. "If we need you, we'll holler."

The mage gave a sharp nod, her fingers tightening around her stave as a precaution.

"Alright," Leliana took a shuddering breath. "Let's just get this over with."

Kallian's fingers brushed against Leliana's hand, the two sharing in a private smile. The young elf nodded, her fringe sliding further in front of her eye as Leliana led them into the small house.

Aydan wasn't surprised to find two more Orlesian guards flanking the next door. But before she could even raise her sword, one of Kallian's arrows split through the first's neck and Leliana's dagger the second. She and Alistair shared a look and a shrug before following in their wake, toeing over the bodies of the foreign guards.

The warmth of a small fire welcomed them in the next room. From the back of the group, Aydan's gaze scanned the room. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings within heavy frames that looked to cost a fortune. A bookcase leaned against the wall, strange little decorations placed atop. She broke into a crooked smile. After hearing Leliana gush over the style of the Orlesians, it was exactly as she imagined it. Overly done with a gentle grace. To her left she found a room, a massive bed sitting in the center, draped in heavy linens hanging from a dark ironbark frame.

"Leliana," a heavily accented voice came from the front of the group. "So lovely to see you again, my dear…"

"Spare me the pleasantries…" She'd never heard Leliana's voice so dark before. "I know you're-"

"Oh, you must excuse the shabby accommodations… I try to be a good host, but you see what I have to work with?"

Aydan desperately wanted to laugh. The woman was clearing putting on a front, which she hoped everyone could see. The place was cluttered and awkward.

"This country smells like wet dog. Everywhere. I cannot get the smell out. Even now it is my hair, my clothes… ugh."

"What is with everyone and the wet dog?" Aydan asked with a sigh. "If you don't like it, leave. I'm more curious as to your reasoning behind sending assassins after Leliana."

"So business-like, your companion." she mused as the group in front of her parted so she could finally lay eyes on the woman. Aydan shook her head, her smile slipping slightly. Just like all the other nobles, she wore those ghastly dresses. But from the way Leliana had spoken of her, Aydan had expected her to be… well, beautiful. All she saw was another noble with flat, lifeless hair and a pale face.

"You framed me, had me caught and tortured. I thought that in Ferelden, I would be free of you, but it seems I am not," Leliana hissed under her breath, her steps towards her slow and even, her blade tapping against her thigh as she walked. "What happened to make you hate me so? Why do you want me dead so badly?"

"Dead? Nonsense. I know you, my Leliana. I know what you are capable of. Three, four men… you can dispatch easily. They were sent to give you cause to come to me. And see? Here you are."

It was Kallian who stepped forward. "You could have just sent her a letter."

"Ignore what she says," Leliana murmured. "She is lying. I know how she works. What are you up to Marjolaine? Why are you in Ferelden?"

"In truth? You have knowledge that you can use against me. For my own safety, I cannot let you be. Did you think I did not know where you were? Did you think I would not watch my Leliana? 'What is she up to' I thought. 'The quiet life, the peasant clothes, hair ragged and messy like a boy… this is not her'. You were planning something, I told myself. So I watched… but no letters were sent. No messages. You barely spoke to anyone. Clever, Leliana, very clever. You almost had me fooled. But then you left the Chantry, so suddenly. What conclusion should I draw? You tell me."

Leliana's laugh was high-pitched and bitter. "You think I left because of you? You think I still have some plans for… for revenge? You are insane. Paranoid!"

"Leliana is helping the Grey Wardens. That is all," Kallian growled.

Marjolaine mimicked Leliana's laugh. "Oh, is that what you think? If I were you, I would believe nothing she says. Not a word. She will use you. You look at her and you see a simple girl - a friend, trusting and warm. It is an act."

"I am not you, Marjolaine. I left because I didn't want to become you."

"Oh but you are," she taunted her in a low voice. "You cannot escape it. No one will understand you the way I do, because we are the one and the same. Do you know why you were a master manipulator, Leliana? It is because you enjoyed the game; you reveled in the power it gave you. You cannot change or deny this."

Aydan heard the stringing of a bow before she could even turn. With Marjolaine's final word, blood suddenly trickled out of her lower lip, her eyes wide and unseeing as she dropped to her knees, a brightly feathered arrow lodged in the center of her chest. Aydan's gaze shot to Kallian who stood firm footed, her bow still held tightly in her hands.

"What just happened?" Alistair asked softly.

"I disliked her," Kallian responded as she turned to Leliana who stood as still as a statue, her lips gaping at the sight of Marjolaine's blood blooming out from her body. From each direction, Orlesian guards crept into the common area, staring down at the woman they were clearly meant to guard but with a single arrow had failed.

Kallian's bow was instantly trained on them and Aydan raised her blade. The first to approach them, his eyes sweeping over the body sprawled across the floor fingered the hilt of his blade as though debating whether or not to draw it.

"I'd leave, if I were you," Alistair growled. "You are outmatched."

Sten, Morrigan, and Alistair stepped aside, their own weapons directed towards them as the men filed out peaceable, their words hurried as they spoke to one another.

"It seems we were unneeded," Morrigan quipped lightly.

As Aydan turned back to the scene, she found Kallian and Leliana off in a corner. Kallian's words were low enough not to be heard, her fingers curved over Leliana's upper arms. But even as she spoke, Leliana seemed unable to turn her gaze from her mentor, and as she had told Aydan, former lover.

"We should move on," Sten's voice came from the corner.

Kallian glanced to them and nodded as she took Leliana's hand and led them all from the house.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

"Alistair," her voice murmured next to him as she stepped across his path and led him towards the city walls. "Look at this."

His eyes trailed a slip of paper nailed to the wall, its large bolded letters standing out against the white parchment.

_Don't believe the lies! Friends of Grey Wardens assemble. The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance. The griffons will rise again!_

"The pearl holds the key to resistance? I wonder what that means," she mused under her breath.

"The Pearl," Kallian informed them. "It's an… establishment of sorts that deals in back alley business. It's just a few blocks over."

"But I wonder who would have posted this letter," she continued. "It isn't exactly a safe time to claim to be a supporter of Grey Wardens."

"I'm not sure," his fingers traced the markings on the paper, the etched symbol of the griffon raised above the parchment. "Should we check it out?"

She nodded. "It would probably be for the best. We're the only Grey Wardens remaining. Perhaps they don't understand the issues that can come with them vocally expressing their support."

"What about Genitivi?"

"We can always speak with him tomorrow. I think this should take precedence."

Alistair agreed. He turned away from the poster to find Kallian wandering towards a locked gate. Her steps were so slow, her head cocked curiously as she approached the guard. Her words of how she came to be on the run echoed in his ears, and began to wonder if it was even safe for her to wander the streets of Ferelden.

"Why is this gate closed?" she asked softly.

The guard turned to her, his eyes darkening the moment he took her in. Alistair felt his feet carrying him towards her.

"To keep all knife-ears like you inside," he growled.

Aydan tensed at the insult, but Alistair's heavy hand fell against hers, holding her back from drawing her blade. Starting an issue with the guard would not do well for their presence.

"You've locked all the elves up?" she whispered. "Why?"

"Cuz they sick, ain't they," he sneered. "The Arl of Denerim don't want their diseases spreading to the good people of the city."

"Sick?" she gasped. "With what?"

"What's it to you?"

She faltered at the question, her gaze sliding to the guard. "Because I'm from there."

"Wouldn't say that too loud, knife-ears."

"That's enough," Aydan growled, siding up next to Kallian. The moment the guard got an eyeful of her, his stance shifted to something a little more appropriate. "Tell her what's going on within the alienage."

"Don't know, do I?" he asked, though his tone was a touch gentler. "All I've been told is to close the gates and keep any knife… err… elves from leaving. Last I heard there's some disease killing em."

"My father," she whimpered as her gaze slid over to Aydan. "Soris, Shianni, they're all inside."

Alistair's fingers curved over her shoulders and drew her back to Leliana's side, who still stood as silently as before.

"I don't think there's anything we can do," Aydan cautioned her. "We'll figure something out."

Kallian's chin dropped to her chest but with a sigh, she backed away. "Come on, let's just go."

"We'll sort it out," Aydan reassured her. "I'm sure your family is fine."

Alistair's thoughts lingered on the way that guard spoke to her. He knew elves were looked down upon but he'd never realized just how much. His first time traveling with an elf, he was now privy to their plight and Maker, it hurt his heart just to listen to it. Kallian was one of the most skilled he'd ever met with a bow, quick-witted, and compassionate. Yet the moment that guard had laid eyes on her ears, she was nothing more than a rodent to him.

The Pearl stood before them, a rather large building, well taken care of, the roof shimmering from the light of the falling sun. There was very little about it to indicate what sort of 'back alley' business they dealt in. There was simply a sign hovering about the door with an image of the a pearl, and the words scrawled above it.

"Here you are," Kallian told her. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to return to camp with Leliana. I don't like wandering the streets of Denerim too much."

And with the death of an arl's son hovering over her, Alistair could understand why.

"This is Grey Warden business," Aydan murmured to Sten and Morrigan. "Why don't you accompany the girls back to camp and we'll return when we're done."

The qunari simply nodded before turning and following in their wake.

"What sort of business do you think this is?"

The moment the question left his lips, her cheeks tinged pink. Alistair turned back towards the sign, wondering if she saw something there that he hadn't. But again, all he saw was a pearl. Whatever it was, he didn't see it.

As they wandered in, his first impressions left him blank. Nothing more than a seating area with a warm fire to sit by. Reading material lay stretched among the tables, the cushioned seats stylish and appeared comfortable.

"Is this a clinic?" he questioned as his gaze turned to the man behind the counter, hovering over books.

Aydan's chuckle answered little. "You're such a Chantry boy," she teased.

_Chantry boy?_ What did that have to do with anything?

She led him into the next room and the moment the far end came into view, his cheeks burned with embarrassment and his jaw fell slack. A line of woman stood against the wall, clad in little more than corsets with fashionably torn stockings, little frilly garters riding high on their silky smooth… he turned away and forcibly cleared his throat. Apparently he had wandered into a brothel.

"Good evening," a smooth voice whispered seductively. "What can we offer you tonight? Ohh… he's _handsome_. I imagine a few of my girls wouldn't mind a bit of time with him."

"Not interested," he heard Aydan state confidently.

"No? This is for you then? I assure you my dear, a ravishing woman such as yourself can have the pick of any of my men. Just let me know which catches your fancy."

"Not. Interested." she stated again, this time her voice firm and annoyed.

"Ah, then you've come together looking for a bed. I have plenty of those. Three sovereign an hour."

Alistair nearly choked on his tongue the moment he turned and found a crowd of those scantily clad women hovering around him, their fingers delving into his armor, caressing his jaw, threading through his hair.

"Back off," Aydan snapped. "We're here on business. We found a poster in the city market-"

"Ah, second hall, third door on the left. You know the password," the woman suddenly shut down and clicked her fingers at her girls, who instantly vanished from Alistair's side. He found it a touch easier to breathe when their perfumes weren't suffocating him.

"Well, that was fun," she murmured as she pressed forwards.

They rounded another corner just as a startled shout echoed through the room and a small crowd broke into a fight. It seemed the two against the wall were fighting together, side by side as a contingent of five men tried to surround them. The moment he caught sight of long blond hair and pointed ears, Alistair knew immediately who they were looking at. With a sigh, he slanted back against the wall, impressed the assassin was still alive.

Aydan seemed content to watch as well, but he caught movement against her blade as she practically vibrated with anticipation. She was never one to sit a fight out, that was for sure.

Two bodies already lay against the floor, only three left, circling the assassin and his friend endlessly as they sought out their weak spots. The woman became distracted by one, giving the assassin her back. And as she did, the remaining two surrounded Zevran. The moment one popped up behind him, Aydan was on the move, her blade already drawn from her sheath.

Just as the second lifted his own, preparing to drill it down through Zevran's back, her blade slid up through his back and out his belly. Zevran danced around his opponent until his blade landed against the other's neck, splitting it from ear to ear. As for the woman, her blade was driven through her opponent's hand, pinning him to the table. His roar was unbearable to listen to. And it seemed she agreed as she cuffed him roughly upside the head and told him to shut it before she shut it for him.

The moment the assassin turned, his eyes grew wide, his gaze dropping down to the bloodied man at her feet.

"Well, well," his accented voice came, heavy with accusation. "If it isn't my favorite Warden."

* * *

><p>AN: Hello Isabella and Zevran :D So, only one more chapter will be up put up for this week and it'll be tomorrow. I have a conference I will be leaving for tomorrow morning and won't return until Sunday or Monday. So updates will be postponed until then!


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

_The children of the Maker gathered_  
><em>Before his golden throne<em>  
><em>And sang hymns of praise unending.<em>  
><em>But their songs<em>  
><em>Were the songs of the cobblestones.<em>  
><em>They shone with the golden light<em>  
><em>Reflected from the Maker's throne.<em>  
><em>They held forth the banners<em>  
><em>That flew on their own.<em>

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

"Zevran," his name slid past her lips without the smallest hesitation as her hands fisted at her hips. It grew so quiet, he could hear the droplets of blood splashing against the tiled floor.

The assassin stepped towards her, his face wiped clean of all emotion. Alistair's eyes tracked his every move. The last time they'd met, he'd been a paid hand of Loghain. And he was not likely to forget that anytime soon, if ever.

"Wardens," he finally said, his heavy lidded eyes drifting between the two of him.

"What are you doing here? You wouldn't be hunting us again by chance?"

"Now why would I do such a thing?"

A single brow arched high over her eye. "Shall I list the reasons?"

"Now, now," he chuckled briefly. "I was simply here enjoying some recreational time with my dear friend Isabela," he swept his hand out to indicate the woman that had fought at his side.

Alistair's eyes tracked her interesting clothing, especially the waist high slit that seemed to tease the upper swell of her hip. The woman slanted back, her arms tucked snugly under her rather... bountiful bust.

"Who are your friends, Zev?" her voice was just as liquid as her eyes.

"My apologies," he commented as he slipped back to her side. "These are the last two remaining Grey Wardens within Ferelden. I was hired to unmercifully slay them by the great Loghain Mac Tir. Happily for both of us, he underestimated this woman's battle prowess."

The woman hummed under her breath as she slowly approached Aydan, her leg flashing, purposely he could only assume, with her every step.

"Aren't you a sweet, young thing," she murmured into Aydan's ear.

Aydan held her stance, her eyes sliding to the woman curving over her. "I'd back off if you enjoying living."

"Oh," a seductive chuckle rose from her throat. "I do enjoy a woman with a strong tongue."

Alistair's cheeks blazed red as he watched this Isabela trail a single finger down Aydan's tight jaw. It was the only sign that she was growing angry.

"Why don't you join us?" Isabela murmured softly.

Alistair was just about to step forward when Aydan's hand launched from her side and gripped the woman's hand, twisting it behind her back. He expected another fight to break out, after witnessing Isabela's talents earlier. But instead she merely laughed, her shoulders shaking with the volume.

"I'm just playing kitten. You look like you need a bit of a release. Shocking, I've always found templars particularly adept at such tasks. All that training, meditation, and stamina..."

What was _with_ the women in this place?

"Who were they?" Aydan demanded of Zevran as she released the woman and gave her a gentle shove towards him.

"Crows," he told her. "When you decided to free me, the Crows deemed my life their payment. They do not take failure lightly."

Her shoulders arched in a small, careless shrug. "You seem to be doing just fine."

"And I am," he said with a grin. "I find myself rather enjoying these freedoms that I had not been granted before."

"Like slumming in a whore house?" she questioned.

"Yet, here _you_ are," he accused, his eyes lighting with a verbal challenge.

"I'm not here to bed someone."

"Shame," the assassin sighed as he turned to Alistair. "And here I thought the Chantry boy would finally have his moment."

"How do you know-"

"I know a great many things about both of you," he told them. "It was my job as a Crow. You did not expect me to hunt you blindly, not knowing that the ravishing woman standing before me is nothing less than the last Cousland. Or that you were raised among the most pious, trained as a templar, hidden within the Chantry from your father and brother."

It was only the small heat from Aydan's hand that held him back, his blade already drawn in his hand. "I'd watch your tongue assassin," Alistair growled. "Lest you say something you cannot take back."

"So if you have not come to make a man out of your Chantry boy here, may I ask why you have come?" His eyebrows waggled as he turned his attention back to her. "Or perhaps _you_ came seeking _me _out. Perhaps you need a real man to satiate your needs?"

Alistair choked back a scoff.

"Oh Zev, dear," Isabela teased. "I might suggest you lay off teasing these Wardens before they show you exactly how they've come to be known as some of the greatest warriors."

He turned to the woman, a sly smile curving his lips.

"We're looking for some Grey Warden supporters," Aydan told him.

"Ah, a rally!" he laughed. "I'm game. Let us all seek out these supporters."

"Why?" she sniped. "So you can report them to Loghain for another slice of gold?"

"I assure you, were I need of some gold, Loghain would be the very last man I would approach. I simply wish to meet these supporters of yours. It is never a bad thing to meet new friends."

Alistair cast his gaze down on the mess that had accumulated on the floor. "The last friends you met wanted to kill you."

"Tis the truest sort of friendships," he teased. "When we first met, this beautiful lady would have slit my throat ear to ear and look at us now! She saved my life and we're going to a rally together!"

For once the assassin's jest brought a true smile to Alistair's lips. After all, their first meeting hadn't exactly gone smoothly either.

Aydan merely shook her head and turned from the assassin, leading them towards the second hall as the proprietor had informed them.

Alistair turned when he felt Zevran's presence at his back. "Shouldn't you stay and... help with your mess?" he asked, pointing to the bodies littering the floor.

It was Isabela who laughed, sidling shamelessly against Alistair. "The Pearl is more than familiar with these types of shenanigans. They have people who clean up after it."

He was barely given the time to acknowledge that when her voice called to him from the hallway, "Alistair?"

He turned to find her standing under a soft haze of light, her milky skin practically radiating beneath it. "Coming."

-Aydan-

_Blighted Grey Warden conspirators_, she mused darkly. Were it not for them, they might have met with Genitivi tonight. As it was, it seemed they had stumbled into another trap of Loghain's, the poster like honey to bring in the bees. This time she'd left one alive, with a message to bring to Loghain that she was coming for him. Howe as well, but she doubted that message would reach him. As for Zevran, they'd left him with his little sex pistol Isabela. But she had a feeling it wasn't the last she'd hear from him.

Because of that little side trek, Genitivi's home had been quite lacking. It mattered not how many times they knocked, no one came to the door. The only suggestion Aydan had was to try again in the morning. And this time she was determined to find a way in instead of standing among the perch.

It had taken a few moments for her to realize that Alistair had fallen behind. As she turned, she felt the absence of Farkas quiet aptly, as there was no muscled lump of meat to stumble over.

She thought to call his name, but instead her gaze followed his. There before them stood a small shanty of a house, the shingles sliding haphazardly towards the ground, with a line of clothing dangling precariously from a sagging line.

"Alistair?" she finally called as she slowly closed the distance between them.

Only the slight shift of his jaw told her he'd heard her. Yet he continued to stare at the house as though it held some meaning to him.

"This is it," he murmured.

"Do you need some wash done?" she asked gently, her voice taking on a teasing tone as she slanted in closer to him. "I can't tell if that stench is you or me, maybe we both should have our clothes beaten and cleaned."

Her playfulness was only rewarded with a flicker of a smile. He drifted forwards, running a metalled hand through his mussed hair. It was rare that she found his hair to be in such a state, but helmets weren't exactly the best accessory for one obsessed with their hair. She rather liked it this way, not so perfectly stylized. In the months they had known one another, his hair had even become to grow out. It added to his appeal, in her eyes. A little more carefree.

She waited for him to say something, her curiosity over this swelling within her. Just as she thought he was about to speak, a clarion shriek startled her as a couple of children streaked by them, chasing after one another. What was more surprising was the fact that Alistair's eyes tracked them, a shadow of regret dimming them.

"Alistair?" she murmured again, this time as her fingers fell on his armoured arm.

"I wonder what their names are," he murmured incoherently.

"Whose?"

"Those children," he pointed vaguely towards him.

Her words stammered as she turned to watch them chase after each other once more. "We could always just ask?" Befuddled, that seemed the right word. "Alistair, what's going on?"

His shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh as he turned to her. "This is my sister's house, Goldanna."

"Your... sister?" she repeated, spinning on her heel to gaze upon the house once more. "You have a sister?"

From the corner of her eye, she caught a slight nod.

"You never mentioned her," she commented, wincing when she heard the hurt in her voice.

His eyes immediately flashed down to her. "I didn't think there was a need to. I thought that part of my life was done with. I used to dream of nothing more than to meet her. She is my last vestige of family."

"What changed?"

"Staring up at her place now? Nothing," he confessed. "I thought I had closed that chapter, but I just can't walk away from this."

"And you shouldn't," she reassured him. If she had any opportunity to reunite with Fergus, she would have leapt on that opportunity.

"Will you come with me?" he asked so quietly she had to strain to hear his words.

"Right now?"

"We don't have to if we have other things to do, I would understand," he backtracked.

"Alistair," she chuckled gently. "We always have other things to do. But we're here. Why not check it out."

"Really? You'd be alright with that?"

Other than the longing and the slight bit of jealousy she felt in the pit of her stomach, she gave a nod. For some reason, witnessing Alistair attempt to reconnect with his family made her miss hers all the more. It wasn't as though she could seek them out and do the same. They were lost to her forever.

He took a single deep breath and rolled his shoulders out before he took the first step towards the porch and rapped his thickly armoured hand against the door. From the depths of the house, she heard someone holler out to them. Aydan encouraged him with a soft smile and pushed open the door, allowing him entrance.

"Err... hello?"

A woman came striding out from the back of the house, a stained apron tied tightly around her waist. Aydan's gaze lingered on her, taking in the torn stitching and ragged edges of her dress.

"Eh? You got linens to wash?" the woman questioned, her gaze barely roving over them.

"Uhh, no," Alistair stumbled over his words, shooting a pained glance to Aydan. She did all she could and that was offer him another smile. "I'm here... well because... my name is Alistair, if that even means anything to you. This might sound a little strange, but is your name Goldanna?"

The woman seemed a little taken aback. "Yes, I am Goldanna."

"Ah good," he nodded. "Like I said, my name is Alistair. And I think you're my sister."

Even Aydan winced at the brusqueness of his statement, no leading into it, no gentle questions, simply a single statement.

"Your what?" she asked sceptically. "What sort of tomfoolery are you two up to?"

"Look, our mother... she worked at Redcliffe castle as a serving girl a long time ago, before she died. Did you know about that?"

"You!" she suddenly gasped, her fingers fumbling at the ties on her apron as she ripped it off. "They told me you was dead! I told them the babe was the king's and they said he was dead! Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way! I knew it!"

"They told you what?" he questioned. Even from next to him Aydan shared in the pain he felt. "I'm sorry... I didn't know that. I didn't die. I'm your brother."

With his last word, her face crumpled, a hard knot forming in the center of her brow. "For all the good it did me," she scoffed. "You killed mother, you did, and I've had to scrape by all this time! That coin didn't last long and when I went back they chased me off."

His eyes slid to hers again, pleading for assistance. With a simple nod, she took a small step forwards. "That's hardly Alistair's fault though."

"And who in the Maker's name are you?" she demanded. "Some tart chasing after his riches and title, I expect."

Aydan's face fell blank, blinking furiously as she heard the words. She was a Cousland. She was hardly chasing after some long lost prince's riches. The entire concept was laughable.

"Hey, don't speak to her like that. She's my friend and a Grey Warden, just like me!"

Her lips curled down. She'd like to believe herself as something a little more than just a friend, but that was hardly any of Goldanna's business of course.

"Ooohhh, a prince and a Grey Warden. Well who am I to think poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me? I don't know you boy. Your royal father forced himself on my mother and took her away from me, and what do I got to show for it? Nothing. They tricked me good. I should have told everyone!"

"I'm sorry..." he whispered before turning to Aydan. "I don't know what to say."

It was only the hard press of her teeth against her tongue that was keeping her silent in this matter. It was his sister and his choice how to handle her. As for Aydan, her fingers were itching to do some walking and her blade, even after dealing with the Grey Warden conspirators, was longing for more blood. How grand it would have been to split this woman from navel to neck. It had been a while since Aydan had felt a rage so strong, but just staring up into Alistair's injured face, her heart twisted cynically. She forced her ire to the back of her throat and smoothed her words over with a honeyed tongue.

"Goldanna, Alistair is simply looking for his family."

"Well it ain't here," she spat.

"So I see," Alistair grumbled.

"I've got five mouths to feed," she continued ranting. "So unless you want to help with that, I have little to no use for you."

Aydan's eyes narrowed on the young woman standing before them. How easily she understood her train of thought. Here, standing before her, were two heavily armoured people, one she knew to be the prince as well as a Grey Warden. And Aydan could see the money signs forming behind her eyes. Greedy little twisted woman, that's what she was.

"Let's just go," Alistair sighed, turning and reaching for the door.

But Aydan wouldn't be deterred so easily. "Your children," she paused for a moment. "Could have known their uncle. Not simply as a Grey Warden, or a prince. But someone worthy of their love. Take it from someone who has lost everything to a bitter rivalry. This is your loss and I hope it eats you alive because I can guarantee you after this, he's never walking through your door again."

It certainly wasn't what she wanted to say. The words dangling on the tip of her tongue were much more heated and angry. But Alistair wouldn't have appreciated it and it was only that which kept her from drawing her family blade.

The moment she stepped out the door and let it slam shut behind her, she let loose a string of curses that would rival Fergus. Something that once would have given cause for Alistair to chuckle and poke fun at her was now rewarded with silence.

"I can't believe how much of a fool I am," he muttered darkly. "I don't know why I expected different. After all the years, I just imagined she would accept me with open arms. The way family is supposed to, right?" he asked as he turned to her. "Was I a fool for thinking so?"

"No," she told him gently. "You're not a fool Alistair. She is just a..." she trailed off before the next string of curses could fly loose. "She's just not worth your time."

"This is the family I've been dreaming of?" he continued. "That _shrew_ is my sister? I can't believe it. I feel like a complete... idiot."

She wanted to say something but had no idea of the words to offer comfort. Maker knows, nothing had ever worked for her.

"I just wanted... some semblance of normality. My whole life, I've been alone, constantly rejected by those that surrounded me. I never had anyone, until Duncan, and now even he's gone."

Still at a loss for words, Aydan crossed the distance between them in a single stride. Her fingers locked onto the collar of his armor and dragged him down. So shocked at the sudden move, so deeply wallowing in his own self pity, Alistair simply followed her movement. She crushed her lips against his, her hands sliding through his lengthened hair as she pressed her body flush against his. His lips fumbled against hers, clearly shocked at the sudden motion. Aydan curved her jaw and changed the angle, sealing the kiss with a slight part to her lips. His arms wound around her, holding her flush against him as their tongues met in a furious tangle. All sound vanished as her pulse hammered in her ears, her chest heaving against him. Her fingers itched to delve somewhere a little more private, something they hadn't done yet but every day progressed closer to. That was when she drew back, her lids fluttering open as she met his gaze head on. His cheeks had grown pink, but not with embarrassment, his amber eyes glowing passionately.

"You're not alone," she whispered softly.

"No, I'm not," he agreed, his voice rising in stupor.

She was aware of a crowd of eyes watching them. She drew away from him and with a nod, pointed towards the city gates. "We should leave."

His eyes trailed after her and she felt as though she was being hunted once more. Finally, he glanced away and nodded. "I'm done with this place."

* * *

><p>AN: This actually works perfectly! As I mentioned in yesterday's chapter I am leaving today for a conference so it'll probably be Monday when I can update next. This is a perfect place to take a small break as well, because any who know the story line well enough know that when they return to camp, Alistair has a special little request to make of his dearest. Should be fun *waggles eyebrows*. Thanks again to everyone who's reading, reviewing, subscribing, etc.! I'm glad everyone is enjoying the story!


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

_One smart comment, and I'll feed them to the darkspawn._

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

He was uncharacteristically reserved as they pressed towards the camp, his thoughts clearly plaguing him. So instead of speaking with him, she turned her attention out towards the surrounding land. It was oddly quiet out there as well, as though reflecting Alistair's mood. Even the chirp of the crickets had diminished. She certainly couldn't blame him for keeping silent. His sister had unsettled even her. And as much as she would have loved to return to her house and burn it to the ground, it was nothing more than an idle thought.

A soft swell of a voice rose in the darkness. She knew it as Leliana's immediately. The song was hushed, but full of sorrow; a grieving hymn. The morose tone brought a tear to her eye as she listened. Marjaloine had been such a presence in her life it seemed. It was only appropriate to grieve for one once cherished. Even if it was simply for the past memories.

His fingers slid through hers, drawing her to a stop before they reached the outskirts of camp. The flicker of the firelight showed they were only a mere hundred meters away.

"I want to thank you," he mumured softly as he drew his knuckle across her jaw. "For talking me down after... well, after."

"You're welcome," she responded with a smile. "I just want to make sure you know you're not alone, not anymore."

"I know that."

Yet his words were still so sad. There was so much more she wanted to say, tell him just how much she cared for him but her words dropped off the tip of her tongue. Instead, she smiled and turned, about to lead him into camp when a sharp tug drew her back around.

Surrounded in a beam of moonlight, his face seemed peaceful, even though a lifetime of pain shadowed his eyes. He'd already explained to her how people rejected him for who he was. Was his sister any different? If anything she was the same as all the rest. It crushed her heart.

He was watching her curiously; his lips parted as though a realization just startled him. A look of clarity brightened his face for a single moment.

"What?" she murmured.

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Nothing. Come on, let's continue."

A slight frown crossed her face before with a nod she turned and continued, her hand folded gently within his.

It was only Leliana and Kallian seated before the fire. Kallian lay in her lap, her eyes closed as Leliana continued to sing with her gaze cast out to the surrounding field, her fingers sliding gently through Kallian's light hair. It seemed a scene of complete scerenity and ease though Ayden knew Leliana was in pain. The slight lines creasing around her eyes told her that, even as she turned to meet hers.

Ayden offered her a gentle smile.

Her words paused for a moment. "Kallian and I had taken the first shift. Sten and Morrigan the second, Daylen and Wynne the third. We didn't know when you'd be back."

A night off. How grand. Aydan thanked her quietly and turned to Alistair. Leliana's song lifted once more as she returned to her mourning.

"I'm going to get some sleep. Will you be alright?"

He flashed a simple grin, even though she could see it was forced. "Just fine. I'm a big boy and all."

She rose on her tiptoes and brushed a gentle kiss against his lips. It was only a whisper of what they'd shared in Denerim, but her mouth seared with heat anyways. Their fingers slid apart as she turned and slipped through her tent. They typically shared each other's bed, though nothing had come of it, but tonight she was sure he'd want a little time alone.

Farkas lay stretched over the foot of her bedroll, his liquid eyes watching her movements as she let her hair down, her locks falling down her back. It only took a few tugs to detangle it.

Her amor she removed and propped it up in a corner. It needed a decent shining, the constant blood washing over it had given it a strange red tint.

She stood back, wondering how much it would cost to do so when the reflection of her fluttering tent flaps drew her attention. She turned to find Alistair standing within the entrance of her tent, the glow of her lantern illuminating his face.

"Alistair," she greeted him again so quickly.

His eyes swept over her, standing in her leathers. Yet he remained silent as the night, simply staring.

Her brow arched high in question as she slowly crossed the tent.

"I want to spend the night," he murmured gently, his gaze jumping to the bed. "If you're alright with that?"

"Of course," she confirmed with a slight shrug. What did he think? That she was going to throw him from her tent? It wouldn't be the first time he'd shared her bedroll.

She reached for the straps that held his armor in place and began to make short work of them, helping him slide out of his chest piece. His needed a shine just as bad as hers. Piece by piece, she stood them next to hers before turning to find him in his undershirt and long, loose pants.

She moved towards the bedroll when his hand snaked around her waist and brought her flush against him, his mouth dropping down onto hers. Her response was eager as her lips moved against his, her arms sliding gently around his neck.

When he drew away slowly, that amber gaze pierced her. There was something different in them, something determined but cautious at the same time.

"I want to spend the night with you," he repeated. "And I'm not referring to sleeping."

If not to sleep, then why… "Oh," she murmured as a flush warmed her cheeks.

"Maybe it's too soon, I don't know," he whispered. "But just tell me and I'll back off. The thing is, being with you makes me crazy. I can't think, I can't move, I feel like my head is going to explode. But the only time I know peace is when I'm touching you, holding you. I cannot imagine my life without you, ever, and I don't want to. I…" he hesitated for a moment, his throat convulsing as he struggled to swallow. "I… love you Aydan. More than I ever thought possible."

Her heart puttered unsteadily in her chest, skipping beats and racing against the rise of her chest. It was easy to imagine everything he'd just described because she felt it too. Even now she was lost to the depths of his eyes and the feel of his touch against her cheek.

When she didn't immediately toss him from her sights, his lips curved into a tiny smile. "Do you wish me to stay?" he asked, hope shining from within.

When her mother had always presented these men to her, not a single one caught her attention, not like he did. She had always preached to her about waiting until marriage to share in what Alistair was asking. It was the _proper _way, and she was, after all, a Cousland. But things weren't as they were. Everything had changed. She was no longer a Cousland, she was a Grey Warden, fighting the Blight. There was absolutely no way of knowing if they would live to see another sunset. So his question rang through her ears once more. Did she wish for him to stay?

"Always," she whispered back.

His fingers brushed away her long tresses, smoothing them over a single shoulder. He dropped a single kiss down over the pulse of her neck, his breath fluttering over her skin.

"Always," he repeated against her before he gathered her against his chest and claimed her mouth once more.

-O-O-O-

Distantly she was aware of the feel of his fingers tracing the raised ridge deeply etched into the flesh of her chest. It didn't seem to frighten him anymore, but when he'd first removed her leathers, his eyes had trailed the path of scars leading from her abdomen up over her heart, before settling over her shoulder. She'd forgotten he'd only ever laid eyes on the one above her chest. One scar, while frightening enough, was nothing when compared to what she wore. She read the guilt in his face, remembering how she had thrown her body over his with the hope that he live.

He'd dropped to his knees before her, his lips ghosting across her belly, his large hands spanning the entire width of her waist as his fingers ran down the uneven edges. She'd given him a moment to collect himself before she lowered down in front of him, a warm smile curving her lips as she removed his linens. What was done was long gone, a past memory. She wished to live for the moment now.

The weight of his body behind her was different. They'd lain in this position night after night, his heavy arm draped over her hip with her pressed firmly against him, yet with no material between them, it seemed so much more intimate. He'd drawn the blanket up over them, creating a cocoon of warmth.

She turned over, ignoring the forming ache creeping into her body, and nestled into the crook of his shoulder. His fingers immediately splayed over her thigh, drawing her in.

He hummed a pleasurable sound against the top of his head. "I could stay like this forever."

"Then let's," she teased.

"Think the archdemon would listen?"

"Let someone else handle that," she chuckled softly as she traced the strong lines of his chest.

"I'm sure our little group will want a little time away from us," he laughed. "You do realize they are going to be talking."

With a wince, she backed away until she could meet his gaze. She was hardly concerned about them, other than Daylen. Things had been tense enough between him and Alistair since their last little encounter. It was bound to be worse now. "The first one that says a single word gets fed to the darkspawn," she decided with a shrug. There wasn't much more she could say to Daylen that she hadn't already. And she couldn't hold back with Alistair for fear of his feelings.

His laugh rumbled against her. "Fair enough, I'll make sure to keep them well advised of that."

She shifted her body against him, stilling the moment he did. She felt his body respond to her movements and with a sheepish grin, glanced up at him. "Again?"

"Well," he mused as he ducked down, his mouth sealing over the peak of her breast. His eyes flicked up to hers, "I am a templar after all. Constant dedication and study, and all that rubbish."

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

He'd hoped they'd been freed from the chill of the Frostback Mountains. But apparently this town they'd been sent to, the small village of Haven, was nestled deeply into the range of mountains. Small flakes of snow danced through the air but the heavy clouds in the backdrop threatened a much larger storm. One he doubted they'd want to be caught in. They needed to find this Genitivi and leave as soon as possible. His words were quiet as he repeated the same thing to Aydan. She followed his gaze and nodded. Their equipment was not appropriate for that level of storm. And there didn't appear to be an inn here. Whatever this 'Haven' was, they certainly did not encourage visitors. They'd been made painfully aware of that when they entered and were essentially ordered to turn around and return from where they came.

Aydan had been quite clear about their intentions and as they marched into the center of town, Alistair felt the guard's eyes on them the entire time.

The guard had mentioned they needed to seek out the revered father. Quite strange. The Chantry had never gone that route. But there was something off about this entire village. The only villager beyond the guard they'd seen so far was a young child, standing among a field of poppies, watching them with a pair of the deadest eyes Alistair had ever seen. Leliana had chosen to question him, but with her questions, the child took off.

"Creepy place," he mumbled to whoever was listening.

"Maybe we'll find someone up there," Kallian offered, pointing up a large hill.

Aydan gave a small nod before leading them up towards it. As they marched, Alistair kept his ears peeled but all he found was silence.

The top of the hill, they found another flat area, with the same tiny houses as lower. At the sight of a wares store, they all followed after Aydan as she swung the door open and entered. Finally, another villager it seemed. But once Alistair stepped within, he was met with a sick scent of death. In their travels, he'd grown to identify with it. Blood and death. From the rising anxiety of his companions, it seemed he wasn't the only one that recognized it.

"We're looking for someone by the name of Genitivi," Aydan asked. "His last known whereabouts were here."

"Don't know no Brother Genitivi," the merchant grumbled, barely looking up from his books.

"Really," Aydan sighed as she shifted against the counter. "Here's the thing. We're very tired, it's been a long travel from Denerim to get to here. And I never said anything about Genitivi being a brother of the Chantry."

The man froze, his eyes flicking up to her from beneath his lashes.

"So why don't we stop with the lies and just tell me where Genitivi is before I become very angry." Her words ended with a tap of her dagger against the counter.

"Look, ask the revered father. He'll be in the Chantry just up the hill. Maybe he knows something about the man you're looking for."

Alistair could see there was more she wanted to ask, but deciding against bloodshed, she backed away with a nod. But instead of turning to the door, she started towards the hall where they all knew the smell of death was coming from.

"What are you doing!" the man raved as he suddenly leapt over the counter and rushed towards them.

Every weapon their group possessed was drawn; be it bow, stave, or blade. The man skid to a stop, his hands held out peaceably.

"You can't just wander someone's store!"

"Why not?" she asked casually. "I wonder what it is you're afraid we'll find back there."

The man's face tightened into a knot. Obviously undermanned, he turned and bolted out of the store.

They finished rounding the corner, the sight of a mangled Redcliffe Knight stretched before them. The wooden floor was stained with his blood, seeping down into the soil beneath.

"Nice place," Wynne murmured.

"Come on, let's find this revered father," Aydan suggested. "We'll get some answers one way or another."

As they piled into the courtyard, it was only the fast casting of Daylen that shielded Aydan in time from the arrow that was suddenly streaking towards her. It fell to the ground a mere inch before her face. An intense rage tightened his jaw. How he loathed arrows, after seeing the condition they'd last left her in.

He turned his eyes out towards the land, finding a small group of men with their weapons trained on them.

"You can fight me," Aydan called out. "And you _will_ die. I assure you. After all hundreds have died in our wake already. Or you can let me pass and seek out your revered father."

Alistair could have told her that was the worst thing to say. These people were obviously dedicated to this man, to their dying breath, which as they rushed forward in a singular unit, was the only guaranteed outcome.

* * *

><p>AN: Alright, I know it's a bit short but I wanted to get something up for you guys today. We should be back on schedule now with no foreseeable interruptions until the end :)


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

"_What I would give to have seen this hall in all its splendor, as it was meant to be..."_

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

At first, she'd felt awe when gazing up at this ruin. How no one had ever found it before was remarkable. The sheer size was unbelievable as the tower reached its snowy peaks into the clouds. Eventually this awe turned into resentment as they faced more and more of these fanatic cultists. In each and every wave they seemed to come in greater numbers as they clung to their misguided beliefs of Andraste.

Some time ago, she had no idea _how _long ago, they had begun a decline. The air grew colder, mold infested the cavernous walls, and specks of blood splattered the stone ground. Every path they chose she had no way of knowing where she was leading them. It was a stone maze with the intent of dispatching any scholars or adventurers from finding the true Urn.

The revered father had been of little to no help whatsoever. After preaching in vain about that of strangers who did not understand their Andrastean ways, she'd driven her blade happily through his belly. How right he was. She did _not _understand how he could murder innocent knights. It was one death that hadn't pained her.

Oghren had been the one to find the hidden door, which consisted mainly of him leaning against some hidden switch and stumbling back into a sudden void. After a few minutes of sloshed ranting, she was able to get past him to find the aged, injured man stretched across the floor, his fingers balancing gently against his swollen thigh.

And slowly to the shambling ruins he'd led them. It was only with his encouragement they'd pressed forwards while leaving him at the entrance to study all he could. Except who knew how long that'd been.

With a long sigh, she slanted against one of the chilled rock walls. Since they'd begun down this path, she'd been fighting waves of anxiety and trying to soothe her jittery skin. It seemed as the days progressed the more she disliked narrow confined spaces. The leather hilt of one of her blades protested as she squeezed it tightly. It wasn't helping that in every direction she looked was more rock.

"You are pale," a gravelly voice came next to her. She flicked a glance up to find Sten towering over her. "Are you ill?"

She shook her head, her eyes fluttering shut as she battled back the intense temptation to bellow at the top of her lungs.

"Then should we not continue on?"

She hummed a nonverbal response, but was unable to meet his gaze.

"Sten, Morrigan, Wynne, and Leliana, check out this path," Alistair ordered as he walked over towards her, pointing to the path in front of her. "Daylen, Kallian, Oghren, and Farkas, check out the other. We'll remain here as the muster point."

The group dispersed. Oddly enough she found it a touch easier to breathe when the qunari wasn't hovering over her.

"Better?" Alistair murmured.

She gave another brief nod.

"Remind me not to take you anywhere underground for awhile," he chuckled as he curved against the jagged rock and watched for their comrades.

She fed him a bemused look before sliding down towards the ground and resting her head against her knees.

"Imagine what it'll be like when this is all finished," she murmured with a low sigh, her eyes trailing the many ridges etched into the stone.

"Will you miss it?"

Her head tilted to the side as she regarded him. He kept his gaze away from her, cast out into the paths. "Miss this?" she laughed. "Will you miss the constant river of blood? Always fighting for our lives? Political scandal at every turn, marching for weeks on end from one side of the country to another?"

His lips curved into a gentle smile, his profile shadowing the moment he gazed around a corner. "More or less. I was more referring to the quiet nights spent in the tent, these unforgettable moments alone," he added with a quick wink in her direction. "Sitting around the campfire sharing stories."

"Ah," she teased. "So you're asking if I'll miss you."

He snapped straight, his gaze slowly sliding over to meet hers. "What?"

It was hard to hide the grin curving against her knees. "What?" she repeated blankly.

"You just… what…" but he couldn't finish his stuttering question. At that exact moment Sten, Morrigan, Wynne, and Leliana chose to return, a little blood splattered but otherwise unharmed.

"T'was only a few cultists," Morrigan informed her as she stalked by. "But a dead end."

Aydan rose from the chilled ground and started towards the other path. It was their only option. Alistair remained against the wall, his widened eyes trailing her.

Chuckling under her breath she rose on her tiptoes and brushed a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth. "It was a joke, Alistair," she murmured against him. "Come on."

"Glad to see you're in a better mood," he growled playfully as he followed after.

-O-O-O-

"None but the Disciples may approach Andraste. She is not ready yet, but when the time is right, She will descend upon the nations in fiery splendor, and all will know Her." The man before her raged, his steeled fist rising in the air before her, clenching with the belief of his words.

"Am I the only here that still believes Andraste to be dead?" Daylen asked from the center of the group. "I mean that's why we came, for her ashes. Usually that comes after the body has been burned."

A fitful of snickers rose from the back of the group. Glad to see they were all such a great influence on one another.

"Maker," Alistair sighed next to her. "Talk about making things worse."

"Enough," Aydan called to the group.

"Perhaps…" the man hesitated, his armored fingers running through his thickly beard. "There is a way to make up for your recent transgressions."

"Of course there is," Aydan mumbled. "And why all of a sudden would you want to cooperate with us?"

"It may be because I believe in second chances. All of us stumble through the darkness before being found and shown the light."

Maker, he was almost as bad as the revered father.

"Perhaps through Andraste's mercy, Her greatest enemy will become her greatest champion."

Aydan's eyebrows climbed high. "I hardly doubt _I_ am Andraste's greatest enemy. That's quite the title to hold. All I've done is cut my way through the men that believed themselves to be her servants and plundered through her fortress…" she waivered for a moment before nodded. "Alright, we'll say I'm her greatest enemy."

"The ashes you seek reside atop this mountain, watched by an immortal guardian who refuses to accept the truth of the risen Lady."

She held her tongue, even though she desired nothing more to inform him his so called 'risen Lady' hadn't even made an appearance yet.

"Now, the ashes prevent holy Andraste from fully realizing Her new form. They are a remnant of Her past incarnation, and She cannot move on as long as they exist."

That didn't sound like she had risen at all.

"The Beloved needs to reclaim the Ashes, to make them Her own again. All it would take is a drop of Her blood. Blood carries power, strength, knowledge. Through it, all the power that is held in the ashes will be returned to our Lady."

This was making less and less sense with every passing word. "Then why have you not done this on your own?"

"The Guardian has foiled all our attempts to reach the Urn. He keeps what power remains from the true Andraste."

"That doesn't sound very guardiany," Kallian murmured behind them with a soft snicker.

"He knows the Disciples," this lunatic ranted above Kallian's voice. "And we cannot touch him, for he draws his strength from the ashes themselves. But you could deliver our Lady what is rightfully Hers."

"If the Grand Cleric were here, her head would explode," Alistair commented beside her. "I kid you not."

For a moment she pictured Aldous hearing these words. A flicker of a smile warmed her face as she did. He would have run this man through just in principle.

"What is this talk of blood and power? And he thinks Andraste is reborn? It is preposterous! Oh, I do not like this at all," Leliana scoffed.

"There is nothing but madness in his words. He is a fanatic, and a dangerous one. Be warned - he means to lead you astray."

"Thank you Wynne," Aydan mumbled. "I was pretty sure I had that figured out myself."

He continued on as though he hadn't heard her companion's words. "The rewards for performing such a service would be great indeed."

"And what makes you think I can even do this?" she laughed bitterly. "Let alone want to."

"Many have been led here, but only you had the fortitude and skill to survive the temple. You were led here by Andraste's hand to do Her work."

"And here I thought it was nothing more than skill and intelligence."

"The task is simple," he growled. "I give you a vial of the holy Andraste's blood, and you empty the vial into the ashes."

"Where in the Maker did you get Andraste's blood!" Leliana practically shrieked.

"We are Her holy servants," he said as though that answered the question. "Whatever magic was held in the ashes will be undone… and our great Lady will be greed from the shackles of her past life. If you do not then you will face our arrows."

"Arrows," she laughed bitterly. "Of course it would be arrows." The one weapon in the land she had been taught to despise.

"What will it be?"

Her blade had already slid home through the underside of his armor before he could finish his last word. But before she could dislodge it, a flare of pain spun her face down into the dirt. With her palms pressed flat against the soil, she struggled to push up to her feet, but a searing heat in her side brought her crumpling back down. This one had taken her just under her arm, pitted deeply into her side.

"Maker," someone gasped next to her only it wasn't Alistair. He had rushed off and her fading gaze found him standing over one of the cultists, his blade buried to the hilt in their chest. No, this time it was Daylen.

"Why is it always me?" she panted, gasping the moment his fingers grazed her side.

A watery smile lifted the corners of his lips. "Because you're always the one running people through with…" his lips kept moving but she couldn't hear him over the roar in her ears. "… Mr. Perfect do the killing. I know he'd like it, and fewer injuries…"

She only heard half of his words, her vision fading in and out. She watched his lips move but caught only flickers.

"…to hurt," she heard him continue.

She dropped her gaze down to her side, a sharp cry falling from her lips the moment his fingers latched around the shaft.

She caught the flutter of his lips as he counted to three, but nothing prepared her for the pain as he yanked the hafted tip from her side. The only consolation was the calm flow of healing that smoothed over her immediately afterwards.

"Ah, no scar this time," she heard him fully this time.

Her fingers instantly pressed to her side, her fingers fumbling through the hole the arrow had punctured, finding it whole and fleshed out. "What would we do without you?" she asked weakly, stumbling to her feet.

A strong hand curved over her elbow and helped her up. But when she glanced up, she found it to be Alistair she was borrowing strength from.

With a sigh, he shook his head. "One of these days, you're going to give me a blighted heart attack."

"Isn't that my job?" she teased quietly.

"Let's continue," he stated clearly, leading them all towards the exit they had found upon entering these chambers. This time she could smell the fresh air just beyond the boundary. Instantly she felt the tension slip from her shoulders and a spike in energy.

An enormous bridge lay before them, crumbling down into the depths of what she could only imagine would eventually lead into the Deep Roads. And of course, they had to cross it to gain entrance to yet another entryway. But they'd barely made it a few steps when a horrid screech rent the night. The burst of fire spewing from a figure perched atop the mountainous rock was the only light visible.

"A dragon," Alistair grumbled. "Why did it have to be a dragon?"

"Because they're the bane of all Grey Warden's existence?" Kallian answered for him.

"I think if we're really quiet and slow moving, we'll pass right under her," Aydan whispered loud enough for the entire group to hear. "Unless she comes down from her perch, let's just let her be."

And that was exactly what they did. Only once did Aydan fear the dragon would do exactly that, the moment those slit eyes gazed down over her. If she knew what lay beyond the entryway, however, awaiting her arrival, she might have chosen to fight the dragon instead.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry I missed yesterday everyone! Being gone for the conference left a lot of work to be caught up on. So this time I meant it when we're back on schedule.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

_Above them, a river of Light,_  
><em>Before them the throne of Heaven, waiting,<em>  
><em>Beneath their feet<em>  
><em>The footprints of the Maker,<em>  
><em>And all around them echoed a vast<em>  
><em>Silence.<em>

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

The steel door felt quite heavy beneath her hand. But beyond that it was cold and not the sort that comes from the snowy frigid temperatures. Colder than that. The tips of her fingers seared against it as she pushed it inwards, steam billowing from the heat of her hand.

She was the first to slide within the barrier, her eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light as she progressed within the chambers. A curious silence had fallen over her comrades, for once, rather than the constant jokes. There was a strange sense about the room and she tracked it until her eyes swept to the front. Another door, yes, but it was the heavily armoured man standing before it that the energy seemed to ebb from.

"You must be the guardian," she commented in a hushed voice as she made her way towards him.

"That I am pilgrim. I bid you welcome," he affirmed his words with a slight nod in her direction, his gaze meeting hers. Aydan entire being went rigid as she stared back. It wasn't possible... she saw those eyes every night in her nightmares, but the man before her _was not_ her father, regardless of how similar that piercing stare was.

"I have awaited years for this," he commented. "Years longer than I wish to regale."

"Why have you been here for so long?"

"It has been my duty," he spoke in a righteous voice. "My life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste."

"Faithful, like those cultists?" she asked gently, knowing that he had not granted them passage.

An abyss of sadness crept into his eyes. "When my brethren and I carried Andraste from Tevinter to this sanctuary, we vowed to forever revere her memory, and guard Her."

"Maker," Leliana gasped behind Aydan. "You _knew_ Andraste?"

A gentle smile turned to her but he did not answer. "I have watched generations of my brethren take up the mantle of their fathers. For centuries they did this, unwavering, joyful, in their appointed task. But now, they have lost their way. They have forgotten Andraste, and their promise. Over the years their faith waivered and they fell to the worship of a false prophet."

"I suppose they haven't completely forgotten her," Aydan mused. "After all, they were fighting to see her raised."

"They have forgotten that Andraste was just a messenger. They speak no more of the Maker, only of their false Andraste, an even greater sin."

"How did they progress into this lie?" Leliana quickly asked. Of course the bard could be interest in the tale.

"It began with an ancestor," he informed her. "Of the one known as Kolgrim. He saw himself as a new prophet, preaching the rebirth. Some disagreed with him. I heard their cries of pain and loss which were quickly silenced. Now it is only I that remain. For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea."

"The Imperium is not what it once was," she informed him gently.

He bowed forward once more. "Then perhaps the time shall soon come where I will know rest. Perhaps this is the beginning of an end."

"We've come seeking the Urn," she informed him. There was something about him, something true and honest that drew the words from her lips before she meant to.

"You already know that the Urn contains the remains of the prophet Andraste. You have come to honour Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy."

_Worthy?_ Was there any that walked the land that could call themselves worthy enough to honour Andraste? A drop of fear slid down the back of her throat. How in the Maker was she meant to prove such a thing?

"You fear you are not so," he commented, those dreadful eyes peering into the window of her soul. "Few are. And it is not I that decides who is worthy and who is not. The Gauntlet shall decide that for us all."

_The Gauntlet?_ She did not like that sound of that at all, even less than proving herself worthy.

"If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. Do you truly fear the result?" he questioned. "I see path before you was not easy. There is much suffering - your suffering, and the suffering of others."

Her throat swelled as she fought to swallow. Flashes of memories were brought to the surface, her vision lost to the sight of her father crawling across the larder, the wound against his side just as gruesome as she remembered.

"You abandoned your father and mother, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy. Do you believe these to be the actions of someone worthy? Do you believe you have failed your parents?"

She felt her mouth gape soundlessly as hot tears welled in her eyes. "I do not _believe_ Guardian," she spoke. "I _know_. Someone worthy would have stayed and fought Howe. My parents lie in ashes, along with the rest of my family, my home in ruins. It was my responsibility to keep them safe and I did not. Yes, I failed."

"Aydan..." Daylen murmured behind her. "You cannot be held responsible for the actions of others."

"And yet, I am," she argued as she blinked the tears back. This was not the right moment to break down.

The Guardian's eyes swept over the rest of the crowd, as though he meant to ask more questions. Instead he simply stepped aside and with a broad sweep of his arm, the doors unlatched and slowly began to creep open. "The way is open pilgrim. May Andraste lead you safely from here. Good luck and may you find what you seek."

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

"Father," even he heard the waiver in her voice, the almost child like glee at finding this man standing just beyond the gate.

"Father!" this time it was louder and much more obvious.

Alistair had never met the man but he was exactly what he imagined. They shared the same strong jaw line and high cheekbones. And when he finally met his gaze, he now knew the cornflower blue eyes were from him. It was as eerie as looking in a mirror, only she held the gentle grace that he imagined came from her mother, the softer chin and nose.

"Ah, pup," the deep voice rumbled through the room. "How beautiful you've become, how much you've grown. Your mother and I are so proud of you."

Alistair reached for her a moment too late, his fingertips grazing her armor. She had already burst into a run, her path leading her straight into the arms of the man standing before her, waiting. Yet, he knew it wasn't Teryn Cousland. Energy spindled through his body; the fade was so close and had been known to play tricks on them before.

"Aydan!" he called to her just as she stumbled through the apparition, her hands catching herself against the stone.

When she turned, a trail of tears marked their way down her milky cheeks and quite successfully broke his heart. Even he felt the pressure in his chest the moment she came to the same realization. For the second time, Aydan Cousland had her father stolen from her and this time he felt it as aptly as if it were his own.

He couldn't just leave her standing there, so lost as she gazed up into the face of a man she'd never see again.

"You're not my father," she stated clearly, though everyone heard the absolute desolation smothering her voice.

Alistair came to stand next to her, grimacing at the smile that curved her father's lips, so soft and warm.

"No," he admitted.

"Is this how I'll be weighed?" she demanded suddenly. "Is this how you'll determine if I'm worthy? Why are you doing this?"

With every word her voice broke just a little more. But Teryn Cousland held strong.

"I'm sorry father!" she suddenly cried. "I should have been stronger! I should have come to you sooner! I shouldn't have left you alone with Howe. I shouldn't have..."

For the second time since he'd known her, she was openly sobbing.

"Why are you doing this?" she wept. "What is the purpose of this torture? Do you mean to hurt me?"

"Oh, pup, no one can hurt you any more than you've already done. Your cruellest torturer is yourself. You must let us go, pup-"

"Stop calling me that!" she bellowed, her voice bouncing off the walls. "You're not my father! You're not my father..."

These words fell from her lips another four or five times. He'd lost count as he drew her into his chest, her words mumbled into his armor.

"You're not my father," she stated again as she cast a side long glance to the apparition that simply hovered before her. "My father is dead."

"Then let us go," he stated calmly. "Find vengeance. Find justice. But most importantly, find peace. I have something for you, before I go."

He stretched out a fisted hand. Alistair's gaze narrowed on it. An apparition, incorporeal, yet he claimed to have a gift.

Her hand was shaking as she reached out but no one commented. Teryn Cousland's fingers opened and a small gold band fell into her hand.

"How is this possible?" he asked, his gaze lifting to where the apparition had stood, only to find him gone.

"My father's signet ring," she whispered in awe next to him.

"But how?" Wynne questioned as she slowly slid next to them.

"I don't know, but let's go," she murmured. "I don't want to stay here a moment longer than necessary."

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

Dust, cinder, ash, it mattered not how many different words she could command, it remained fact that pinched between her fingers were the remains of someone. What had once been flesh and bone was now reduced to nothing more than refuse. Her entire family lay like this, nothing more than filth on the bottom of someone's boot. Regardless of how well liked the Cousland's had been, no one was carrying their remains to a ruined temple to protect for the remainder of time. And one day, not far from now, she would follow the same path.

Her thoughts had taken a grave turn since returning to camp. It seemed the small visit from her father had done nothing more than revive a little of the depression she had suffered in the early days.

So many claimed to love the Maker, to cherish Andraste. The cultists had dedicated their entire lives to seeing her raised from the ash. Yet, now they lie in similar piles, scattered to the chilled winds. One by one, they would all fall, as would her comrades, as would she and Alistair. This did nothing to improve her mood, however.

In two days time, they would return to Redcliffe and test the theory that these Ashes could cure all ailments. Well, physical at least. Because they'd certainly done nothing for her malady but add to it.

The gold of her father's ring shone against her hand from the gentle flicker of the fire. She stared down on the familiar engravings, something she had held her entire life, now returned to her by some sort of apparition that had taken the form of her father.

How foolish she felt. At the first sight of the greying hair and warm smile she remembered from her first memories, she'd fallen to pieces. She'd felt like a child once more, laughing as she launched herself into her father's eternally strong arms. He'd heft her from the ground and toss her carelessly into the air, always catching her, always protecting her. She'd stared into those eyes and felt... peace, warm, loved. And just as quickly, it was taken from her.

Her hands lowered into her lap as she turned back towards the fire with a sigh. The aching pit burrowing deeply into her chest would not let up. She might have proven herself worthy, but the Gauntlet had taken whatever strength remained.

She longed to sleep. Truly sleep. The only consolation she felt was the knowledge that it slowly was all coming to an end. They had their army, the three dominions of the country; elf, dwarf, and men. Whether these Ashes cured the arl or not, there was at least that acknowledgement. And soon they would seek out the army they'd witnessed marching from the depths of the Deep Roads with the archdemon in the lead. No matter the outcome, at least soon, it would all come to an end.

"I lost my mother a while ago," a voice chimed from across the camp.

Aydan's eyes slowly rose from the heart of the fire and met the greyish eyes of Kallian.

"She died a few years before I escaped the alienage. I don't say this to upset you further," Kallian murmured as she slowly approached Aydan and pulled up a seat next to her. "I say this as a way to maybe help you find peace."

The words were a little too close to what the apparition had said but Aydan didn't stop her.

"I was raised by my father and I love him dearly. But it was my mother that taught me everything I know about blades and bows. So I know how you feel. Perhaps it wasn't as devastating as losing your entire family in a single night, but I do understand a little something about pain and loss."

"Is this where you tell me it gets better with time?" she asked sourly.

"No," Kallian smiled bitterly. "That's simply what people say who know nothing of loss."

Aydan turned to her with wide eyes, her brows climbing high.

"My experience is they say it because they know of nothing else to say. It's become a reaction to them. Simply tell them it'll get better and maybe it will. But I tell you now, it will not." She turned her own gaze towards the fire, the flames reflected in the large swell of silver in her eyes. "Every day you will remember what it was like to have these people you love in your life, and every day you will remember what it was like to have them torn from you. Yes, you do create a place for them in your heart to carry them with you wherever you go, but is that truly enough?"

"No," Aydan sighed. That would never be enough.

"No," Kallian nodded.

"How is that meant to help me find peace?"

Kallian's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "It doesn't. But I'll tell you what helped me."

Aydan watched her and waited with bated breath.

"Killing the bastards that took her from me. They say vengeance doesn't help and it doesn't. Zathrian was proof of that. But justice? Your apparition spoke of both of these. Above all else, this Howe does not deserve the air he breathes," she said vehemently. "So take it from him. Take from him what he took from you. I promise you, you will find peace in that."

Kallian's hand fell gently on Aydan's knee before she rose and crossed back towards her tent.

Even just imagining her family blade gutting Howe gave her satisfaction. Perhaps Kallian was right, maybe it would be enough.

-O-O-O-

The halls were just as ghastly as when she'd last walked them. Aged blood stained the walls, corpses lined the floors. It was obvious some attempt had been made at removing the evidence of what had transpired here but clearly not enough.

Teagan had been quite relieved they'd found the Ashes and just as she'd moved to follow after him to the arl's chambers, Alistair had stepped in and requested that he be the one to tell him with Teagan. At first Aydan didn't like hiding from what she'd done, but from the pained look stretched across his face, she'd merely nodded. Having no idea how long it would take to revive the arl, if at all, she'd ordered her comrades back to camp. There was no need for them to be here. They could rest while she and Alistair dealt with the arl. The threat was gone from his place anyhow.

Her steps led her through the hall, towards an arch with a warm glow coming from beneath the door. After a soft knock, and no response, she entered, to find herself standing in what had to be the arl's study. Cascades of books lined the walls. It was nowhere near the sheer size of the Cousland library - her mother had always been a nut for literature - but it was the closest she had ever seen.

A sad smile curved her lips as she perused the sections, ranging from the history of all the blights to the history of Redcliffe. At the mention of Garahel, she drew the book and collapsed into a chair as she began to read.

She had just reached the part where a united army marched north to free Antiva from the darkspawn - which reminded her of Zevran - when she gazed up and caught a flicker of something in the light.

It wasn't her desk, she knew that. Yet that didn't stop her from reaching into the drawer and drawing out a long silver medallion. The moment her eyes landed on the engraved emblem, a memory surfaced.

_"A silver emblem of Andraste's Flame. It had belonged to my mother. It was the only thing I owned of hers. When I learned that Eamon was sending me to live at the Chantry, I felt betrayed. I was angry. I ripped the blasted necklace from my neck and threw it at the wall, shattering it. It was the stupidest thing I could have ever done, and I've done plenty of stupid things_."

While she knew it was possible that this could have been any silver medallion of Andraste's Flame, this one was riddled with cracks. It was obvious someone had gone through great efforts to piece this back together again. And as it was dangling from Arl Eamon's desk, it was obvious who had done it.

Her smile grew as she imagined giving this to Alistair.

And as though conjured from her thoughts, a dark shadow loomed in the entryway. Startled, she snapped straight before placing the book carefully down atop the desk.

"Alistair," she chuckled lightly. "You startled me."

He eased into the room. Were it simply the tension he held within his shoulders, she might have looked it over, but the grim line set to his lips and shadows clouding his eyes told her something was wrong.

"Did the Ashes not work?" she questioned. She'd feared this, for his sake more than anything. Reviving the arl seemed to mean quite a bit to him. But the Ashes were only rumoured to have great healing powers, which she questioned as no one had found the Ashes in the first place to test that theory.

"They worked," he breathed happily, though the shadows did not dissipate, nor did the tension held within his body.

"Then what's wrong?" she asked, anxiety creeping up on her as he shut the door with a soft click and began to pace.

Her fingers sealed around the silver medallion, afraid to speak of it until he told her what had happened.

"Eamon wishes to put me forward as king."

The words came out so fast and so blunt, it took her a few moments to process the information. But the moment she did, she felt the ground give way from her and she slowly lowered back down into the cushioned seat.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as she stared at him.

"No," she finally said, her hair tumbling about her shoulders as she did. "No. You are a Grey Warden. You are the _senior_ Grey Warden in Ferelden. You cannot be king."

"I said these very things myself, believe me," he said.

"And?"

Alistair turned with a sigh, dragging his hand across his face, his tired eyes watching her. "And he said it won't make a difference. King supersedes that matter. He pointed out that there is still another Grey Warden who can take my place."

"Who?" she whispered daftly.

"You, Aydan. You are the one that put together the army, you are the one that was declared worthy enough to carry Andraste's Ashes."

"But... that doesn't mean anything. You are the Senior Warden. It has nothing to do with accomplishments. You were changed before me."

"He doesn't know, nor understand that. And I can't exactly go about explaining that to him."

"So... tell him no," she stated. "You have your responsibilities to the kingdom and they involve killing darkspawn."

"I tried, Aydan, I did."

Her gaze shot to his once more. She heard the concession in his tone, saw the defeat in his face. He'd been in the arl's presence for a matter of moments and had already caved to his ways. This was what she had feared the moment he told her of his bloodline. She feared being alone, the last remaining Grey Warden. But it was more than that now, she was afraid of losing him. Terrified of it. She was a noble, but both couldn't abandon the Grey Wardens for a life of politics and thrones. There had to be at least one Grey Warden remaining in Ferelden. Regardless of her name, she could _not_ be with the king and hold to her oath as a Grey Warden. It seemed she was about to lose yet another person important to her. With that realization, anger curled in the pit of her stomach. She rose from her seat, her fingers clenched tightly at her side.

"And you just gave in?" she demanded.

"I didn't _just_ give in," he argued. "I thought he would be the one to take the throne, but he disagreed. Believes it would make him look no better than Loghain. He believes we need a true heir to take the throne, a son of Maric. We _cannot_ let Loghain win, Aydan."

She turned away from him, furiously blinking away the enraged tears blurring her vision.

"Aydan, we can make it work with us. Believe me, I would rather have you in my life, be with you, then take the throne."

"And yet you accepted the proposition," she growled, sniffing back the tears. Her gaze slid to his. "For all your talk and pretty words, you accepted."

She stalked around the desk and slapped her hand against his chest, the silver medallion dangling from her fingers. His shocked gaze spiralled down, his lips parting when he saw what she held against him.

"What-"

But she didn't let him finish the sentence as she stormed out of the room.

* * *

><p>AN: So here begins the beginning of the end of the story :D yay! I've always loathed that the Cousland noble, a Grey Warden, ends us as queen. It wouldn't happen, beyond the question of the heir, we've all seen how in Awakening the Warden Commander is sent to Amaranthine. I think realistically, a marriage between a king and a Grey Warden would not work. And Daylan will point out a few of the reasons in the upcoming chapter.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

_"Is this where I lament the monster I helped create?"_

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

Maker, he'd known she would be upset, but not this upset. For a week now she hadn't said more than two words to him. And at night he found her sitting in front of the fire, staring into it in silence, very reminiscent of when they first began this journey. She was acting as though he'd died. The night she'd stormed from Redcliffe castle and back to the camp, he'd tried to approach her again, but to no avail. He'd called her name but was met only with silence. It seemed this was the one thing he couldn't simply make her smile and forget.

"You think she's wrong, don't you?"

It wasn't the fact that Daylen was speaking with him, but that it was civil. Alistair turned towards him with a sharp glare. "What do you know about it?"

"Maybe more than you'd think," he sneered. Ah, that was better. "So let me see if I understand this. _You _are the heir to the Ferelden throne. _You_?"

Alistair merely held silent. Let the mage think what he wanted.

"And somehow you think a king and a Grey Warden can be together?"

Silent once more, but only because he gnashed down on his tongue.

"So tell me, when she - as a Grey Warden - is off hunting darkspawn, marching all over the country, wading through Deep Roads, ruined temples, and fighting wars, you'll be where? By her side? No, you'll be tucked safely away, sitting on your padded throne behind countless numbers of soldiers who would fight _for _you."

Alistair's eyes shifted to Aydan as she rose from the rock to approach Farkas, lowering gracefully down next to him.

"When the country demands a queen, do you honestly think they'll accept one who's constantly under the threat of death as she fights these creatures?" He paused for a moment, his own gaze shifting to Aydan. But it was the next question that left Alistair breathless. "And when they start demanding an heir? Do you think Aydan's just going to shoot one out and walk away from her child to return to the Grey Wardens?"

An heir, maker he hadn't even thought of that. It was something he'd placed on the back burner with everything going on. A week ago he'd been concerned with surviving the blight. Suddenly that wasn't the worst thing. Now it was how he was going to survive Ferelden's demands.

"Personally, I like this change of events," Daylen laughed brusquely. "Because when the shadows clear and she finds happiness again, guess who it's going to be with?"

Alistair spun before he could even think about it. His clenched first paused at the site of Daylen's staff pointed at him.

"Try it," he laughed. "I dare you. You caught me off guard last time. Won't happen again, I assure you."

The mage turned and walked off, with a dance to his step Alistair had never seen before. As he turned back to Aydan, he wondered what he'd done. Because as much as he hated to admit it, the mage was right. Eamon had called for a landsmeet in Denerim - where they were headed now - with the intent of convincing the nobles to side with Alistair for the throne. The only thing he could do was hope they didn't. It wasn't as though he even wanted the throne. That was the furthest thing from his mind. And it certainly hadn't been his idea. As far as he'd heard Anora was a great queen. Rumor even had it she'd been the true ruler all those years of Cailan as king. Did bloodline truly matter that much? Did the people truly care who led them? As long as the country remained prosperous and safe, he highly doubted it.

He had no idea what to do. Eamon at one end was leading his chain towards the throne. Severe words of responsibility and blood weighed heavily on his shoulders. But his heart, that led him in an entirely different direction.

-Aydan-

"You are a _Cousland_," the man repeated for what had to be the tenth time. "Your words will carry far among the nobles. Many knew your father and regarded him highly. A single word from you could silence all arguments. With your support Alistair could take the throne unhindered."

Tension sang in her arms as she folded them over her chest. Her fingers ached for the feel of her blade but even she knew it was not wise to threaten an arl, regardless of the fact that she did technically outrank him.

"You wish to use my name," she spoke clearly and evenly so not to be misunderstood. "To put Alistair on the throne?"

"Yes," he smiled at her, but she saw the look in his eyes.

She'd been avoiding him rather successfully up to this point. Diving out of rooms when he entered, hiding behind Sten who very few were willing to approach, slipping unseen behind bookcases. Leliana had shown her that last one. Since entering his estate it had been a full time job, coupled with overtime when avoiding Alistair. She'd taken to spending more time with Leliana and Kallian. And occasionally Oghren joined the lot. Wynne, after consoling her with pointless words that meant little to her, had retreated to the library. But today she'd been unprepared. She'd allowed herself to become trapped in a room with only one exit, the one he had entered. And when his gaze narrowed on her, it was like victory lit up his face.

"So let me get this straight," she said with a cursory look over his shoulder. A shadow had flickered across the stone wall but there seemed nothing there. "You took this child into your home. Some might find that admirable, however he was given board in the stables to sleep on hay with the dogs. One might question that sort of accommodation. You fall in love with a woman," she avoided saying Isolde's name. Even his face crumpled at the thought. "And when she demands the boy be removed from her presence, it's off to the nearest Chantry to be rid of him. And why not, the country had its king, what was to be gained by admitting Maric had another? There he was forced into the ways of the Chantry, to be made a templar. Again, this means nothing to you, the boy had been freed from your responsibility." If possible the daft man looked green, quite ill in fact. "Maker's grace, that same boy turns up on your doorstep when things are most dire and actually ends up helping save what could be saved of your family, revived you and even put to rest the attacks on your village. With Cailan's death, however, you see an advantage to be held here. What could be better than the boy you claim to have raised seated on the throne. Someone who you hadn't believed worthy of anything more than hay and dogs. And you expect me to simply fall to my knees and thank the Maker for this opportunity to place him on the throne? Something he himself told me he does not want. I see through you Eamon, this is nothing more than an opportunity for you to rise as his right hand man. You do not care for him, you only care for what he can give you. If you did, you wouldn't force this title on him."

It seemed the dear arl hadn't expected her to argue. He took a single step back from her and dragged his fingers through his long hair. "Alistair means more to me than that."

"Yet you did not fight Isolde when she ordered him gone. You did not take into consideration his wishes in this. His entire life Alistair has been molded to your design and desires. And I will have nothing to do with that. You will not have the support from the Cousland name regardless of what my parents would have done. While I am constantly reminded that they are gone, I am not."

"So you will side with Loghain then?" he argued, a fresh knot forming in his brow. "The man responsible for the Grey Warden downfall, the man in partnership with the one responsible for murdering your parents."

It was her turn to fall silent.

"This man has almost destroyed Ferelden, he has approved things that have decimated families and you know this. Yet you will support this just despite me?"

She held her tongue. She did not like that these were her only two options. She was being forced to choose between the man she loved and the man she loathed. She spun on her heel and stalked from the room.

As she approached the door, she slid a dark look over her shoulder. "You will not use me as you have done him. I am not your puppet Eamon."

He meant to respond, sputtering as he struggled for the last word, but she pressed forwards.

Just as she entered the hall, the shadow from earlier could be seen resting against the wall, those eyes she had fallen in love with watching her in shock. Neither spoke, yet she felt the draw towards him. With a sigh Aydan broke the connection and stormed down the hall to the room she had been given. She wasn't deaf to his shouts, yet she did not respond. She simply slid within her room and softly shut the door behind her, her weight pressing against it as she blinked away the same blighted tears she'd been fighting for longer than a week. She missed him, dearly. It seemed her day was not complete without him there to share in the moments. But if he was to be king, she needed to remove herself from him now. As impossible as it seemed.

-O-O-O-

A soft rap knocked against her door, rousing her from her light doze. Farkas' head rose from the pillow she'd given him earlier, his soft yip intended to alert her to their visitor.

"Aydan?"

It was him… of course it was him.

"Aydan, please," he murmured just before a muffled thump sounded against her door.

"It's open," was all she said. It was the most she'd offered him since Redcliffe.

There was a slight pause before the door cracked open, a stream of dim light casting over her bed. He slipped inside and shut it gently behind him before turning towards her. He held his hands clasped loosely before him, his gaze darting around the room as though afraid to speak now that she had let him in.

"What do you need Alistair?" she asked as she slid out from under the covers, her toes touching the cold ground.

"Eamon needs us," he told her, jerking a finger back over his shoulder.

"Shocking," she grumbled, clicking her fingers and waiting for Farkas to sidle up next to her.

She slowly approached the door and waited for him to open it. But just as he did, he slammed it shut and turned back to her, closing the distance between them in a single step.

"Why are you doing this?" he murmured, his fingers encircling her waist and drawing her into him. She meant to resist, or so she kept telling herself. "You know we're meant to be together."

She shook her head slowly. "It wouldn't work Alistair, you know that. We'd never see each other. Ferelden needs Grey Wardens, now more than ever. With you… leaving," she hesitated. "Who knows where that'll lead me."

"Aydan…"

"You can't honestly think the people will accept two Grey Wardens on the throne."

"It's not their choice," he countered.

"Please," she sighed. She knew politics better than him. And she understood just how much influence the people had over the monarch. "Don't tell me Eamon hasn't approached this topic with you."

She could only imagine how much the old man disliked her now. And if she was right about him, he would have much to say on the subject of Alistair's future wife. Which, from Alistair's silence, it seemed he had.

She would have liked to think his words meant nothing to her, but with a nod she waited.

His eyes darkened as he turned his face away from hers. "It doesn't matter Aydan."

"Of course it matters. It will always matter," she counseled him. "What does he need us for now?" she asked, changing the subject.

"The queen is being held against her will in the Arl of Denerim's estate," he informed her, sadness creeping into his voice.

"Anora…" she murmured, her brow tightening. "Why would Howe be holding her prisoner?"

Alistair gave a small shrug. "Something about her questioning Cailan's death. I wasn't completely listening."

"And we're supposed to rescue her?"

He merely nodded before releasing her and opening the door.

-O-O-O-

They crept silently through the halls, avoiding all eyes and hiding in the armor of the Denerim soldiers Erlina had given them earlier. On her instructions she'd only chosen a handful of her company. Alistair, obviously as he still wouldn't leave her side, Leliana, Kallian, and Daylen. She found herself grateful for Leliana. It was only with her instruction that they managed to blend with the crowds and move seamlessly among them. Kallian picked up the ways of the bard instantly, after all she was familiar with stealth. Daylen, Alistair, and Aydan however, had a bit of trouble with it. But so far they seemed to be managing.

They'd left Erlina back with Anora after they stumbled across the warded door. She'd tried not to let her frustration show. But every spell Daylen tried failed. The ward could not be broken by any other than the mage that cast it.

It was that which led them through the halls. Anora believed she'd heard the mage following after Howe, of all people, down in the dungeons. Hearing his name, she'd seen red. It seemed her chance had finally come.

She followed Alistair through another heavy door, like all the others before it they've passed. But this time, a putrid stench of waste and sweat swirled around them.

Before she could even search for the source, a startled gasp drew her attention to the far right corner where a guard pushed forward.

"Who are-"

A large arm snaked out from between the bars, wrapping firmly around the guard's neck before yanking him roughly back against the bars. A sharp snap and he slipped down to the ground.

Curiosity had her pulling towards the sight, until a firm arm brushed her back. Alistair shook his head, directing her back beside Kallian.

"I thank you for creating such a distraction, stranger," a voice came from the cell just moments before a large, dark man walked out, straightening the armor he took from the body. "I have been waiting days for the opportunity. Do you think you could – Alistair, is that you?"

At the sound of his name, he straightened. "Who…? Wait. I do know you. You were at my Joining. He's one of us," he told Aydan. "A Warden from Orlais. Jader, I think. Or was it Montsimmard? I'm afraid I don't remember your name."

"I'm Riordan, senior Warden of Jader, but born and bred in Highever, and glad to be home."

"What are you doing here?" Alistair asked. Aydan was interested in that question herself. This would have to be one of the last places she'd expect to find a Warden of Orlais.

"Howe captured me. With an offer of hospitality and a poisoned chalice. I was fool enough to think Loghain didn't yet know who I was."

"Sounds familiar," Aydan growled. She was tired of hearing of this man's trickery.

"Riordan, what are you doing in Ferelden?" Alistair questioned.

"For the most part, attempting to hold my tongue. I was sent when we received no word from King Cailan as to the outcome at Ostagar. The king had invited all the Wardens of Orlais and their support troops to join him, then… nothing."

Could they be so lucky? Were the Orlesian Wardens already within Ferelden? "How large a force did you bring with you?" Aydan demanded.

"We had two hundred Wardens and two dozen divisions of cavalry. The first we heard of Loghain's edict was when everyone was turned back at the border. That was when the rumour reached us that Wardens were being blamed for the massacre. We finally decided it was safest to send someone alone, to learn how best to fight the Blight and this regime simultaneously. As a native Ferelden, I volunteered to make the crossing."

Nodding, Alistair shot a quick glance back to Aydan.

"You are a Warden as well?" Riordan questioned her, his gaze sweeping approvingly over her.

"The remaining two," she informed him.

"I heard of Loghain's betrayal," he commented. "I truly hoped the words I heard were not true."

Voices from further within the dungeon caught her attention. "Where's Howe?" she demanded.

"He only recently passed through here. I would expect him to be down in his dungeons. He is _often_ down there."

"Then that is where we need to be," she told her companions. "Riordan, if you're coming with-"

"No," he told her. "I am not well enough. I would only slow your party down."

"Understood. We have been staying at the Arl of Redcliffe's estate. If you would meet us there?"

He nodded before dipping low into a bow. "It is good to meet you both, Alistair. I will see you soon hopefully."

With a simple nod in return, she led her group down into the depths of the dungeon, her blade at the ready. Every corner they took, every hall they marched, and soldier they faced, the voices grew louder and louder.

She knew this final corner would be it. She could sense him as clearly as she could the darkspawn. As though something in her being was directing her towards this moment. The signet ring on her finger grew warm the moment she met his beady little gaze. She felt the weight of her companions at her back, silently supporting her. But this was something she had to do on her own.

"Well, well," he drawled, standing in the center of the room with his arms crossed over his chest. "Bryce Cousland's little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man. I thought I made it clear that your pathetic family is gone and forgotten. In fact, I made sure of it."

A bubble of pure fury seized her chest. It had been so long since she had felt such rage and it returned to her as though it were no more than a breadth away. Her fingers tightened around the hilt, the leather protesting as she lifted it before her. The man could say whatever he wanted, but it would be her blade he tasted. She had waited far too long for there to be any other outcome. Nights spent thrashing in her bedroll as his voice haunted her every dream, her thoughts plagued by his disgusting existence, all about to come to an end. Kallian was right. It would not make it right, or better. But it was going to feel damn good.

"Far from forgotten," she growled. "Their memory is what drove me to you."

He threw his head back, maniacal laughter spilling from his lips. "Your parents died on their knees, your brother's corpse rots in Ostagar, and his brat was burned on a scrap heap along with his Antivan whore of a wife. And what's left? A fool husk of a daughter likely to end her days under a rock in the Deep Roads. Even the Wardens are gone. You're the last of nothing. This is pointless. You've lost."

Jaw tight, his words found their mark and she shook as she listened.

"If that were true, then why am I standing here before you in _your_ ill-acquired estate? I may have lost my family and home, but I still have more than you."

"And what might that be?" he questioned as his lips curled into a sickening smile.

"A future."

For a moment he froze, his gaze weighing her before he relaxed his stance, his hands curving behind his back. "There it is. Right there! That damned look in the eye that marked every Cousland success that held me back."

"Good," she threatened. "At least you know it'll be a Cousland that takes your life."

"So…" he mused, daring a step towards her. "It would appear that you have made something of yourself after all. Your father would be proud. I, on the other hand, want you dead more than ever."

"Don't you speak of my father," she hissed. "You are nothing more than a sewer rat compared to him. The only way you managed to kill him was in the dark of night under the pretense of friendship. That's not skill, that's deceit and betrayal. You aren't worth the air you breathe."

There was nothing but anger and murderous intent. She could barely see beyond the haze of red clouding her vision. But she saw enough to know when he lunged for her. And she maintained enough sense to counter it before his steel could taste her flesh. His blade had known enough Cousland blood, she would not add to it.

He struck again, his blade meeting her armor in a desperate attempt to injure. A sick sense of satisfaction curled in the pit of her stomach the moment her clenched armored fist connected with the corner of his jaw. Her lips curled malevolently when he stumbled back from her, his fingers rising to graze the blood suddenly seeping from his lower lip.

Something dark slid behind his eyes, a promise of pain and death, but she knew it could only come to pass if she let him win. And there was no way that would ever happen.

Her blade met his again the moment it was brought down near her chest. She meant to turn away from it, just as a flare of pain split across her thigh, his second dagger laying open her leg the moment he'd dropped and spun. His movements were quick as he pressed forwards and she danced back. But the agony in her leg was nothing compared to the justice burning within her.

She continued to canter back, weighing his movements as he slashed at the air surrounding her. Her companions had come to a stop, their eyes on them as they battled. From the corner of her eye, she saw Kallian holding Alistair back, though the worry shone from his face.

A hiss slipped past her lips the moment his dagger landed across her cheek. _Stupid_, she scolded herself as she parried and lunged forward, jabbing her blade into the metal of his chest and forcing him back. _Do not get distracted again_.

The man was certainly skilled, more so than she'd ever witnessed. But Ferelden would have to be swallowed whole by the archdemon before she ever admitted it aloud. He circled around her, his blades searching for weaknesses in her armor. There were plenty, that was for sure, but she guarded them well, her eyes seeking out his own. He managed to swing around to her back, about to strike once more, when she snapped her elbow back. The crunch of his nose echoed blissfully in her ears. It was a sound she would never forget.

Curses fell past his lips as he staggered back. Aydan spun, and with a mighty cry, swung the Cousland blade down, wedging it through the thick muscle of his neck. His armor was thin there and her blade cleaved right through it.

A startled gasp fell from his lips as his eyes rolled sickeningly up to regard her. She placed her boot against his gut and kicked out, yanking her blade free as she did so. A scalding splash of blood grazed her lips and jaw.

"Curse you," he spat, blood welling over his own lips, as he collapsed heavily against the soiled ground.

Aydan drew her brother's dagger, the one she had been saving for this exact moment and slowly lowered down to his level, her gaze trailing over his crumpled form. She pressed her lips to his ear, ignoring the wave of nausea curling within her at being this close to the man.

"_You've_ lost," she growled in his ear before pressing the blade against the mess of his throat.

A final jerk, that was all it took. Slowly she rose from his side, her armor stained heavily with his blood, little droplets dripping from the tips of her fingers. She gazed down at the shadow of the man she had known her entire life and felt nothing. There was no happiness, no guilt, no sorrow, there was _nothing_.

She turned away from him, he deserved nothing more from her, her eyes meeting Kallian's. The two shared a single nod and a soft smile. It would not bring her family back, and it did not help with the abyss of pain she still felt hovering on the edge of her sanity. But as she wiped her blade off on the robes of the mage that had fallen before Howe, she thought on Kallian's words. It was enough.

* * *

><p>AN: Death to Arl Howe! Woot! haha... Thanks to everyone who is still reading after all this time, I'm glad you're still here as we pull this story to a close.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

_"Some of us know what honour and loyalty are_."

* * *

><p>-Aydan-<p>

The tips of his fingers grazed just under the line of her jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of the wound. His lips pressed into a severe line, his face grey with worry. It was hard to hold back the slight shiver that flowed beneath her skin. After more than a week without his touch, it was becoming too difficult to ignore how her body ached for him.

They shared a single knowing look, a heated sizzle stretching its fingers between them. For a brief moment, she imagined closing the distance between them and claiming the soft full lips her gaze kept drifting down towards.

"We need to keep moving," a sour voice next to her grumbled. She knew it was Daylen but he was also right.

She was the first to break the connection, dropping her eyes back down to the grisly remains of one Arl Howe. A chapter was closing in her life. All she could hope was for something new to open next.

The group moved quietly through the dungeons, alert for any sounds the might suggest another attack. Howe might have been gone, but his men were still hiding within the shadows of every room.

"Is… is someone there?" they heard a muffled voice call from a dark corridor.

Aydan's gaze slid towards the sound, her steps slow and even as she moved forwards.

"Hello?"

He sounded alone, there were no other voices calling out, no guards rushing forwards with their blades drawn. Aydan was just about to call back when Kallian gasped and vanished into the shadows.

"Soris!" she heard her call. "By the gods! Soris!"

"Kallian!"

From the depths of the blackened cell, long pale fingers encircled the bars. A single beam of moonlight crept through the tiny window up high, encircling the two as they embraced through the bars.

"What are you doing here?" Soris demanded.

"Me?" she laughed bitterly. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Aydan pressed into the thick shadows, slowly approaching Kallian's side. Before her stood a taller elf, who shared the same facial structure as her.

"The guards," he stated weakly, sagging against the bars as they spoke. "After you left, they came to the alienage searching for the ones responsible for Vaughn's death. They had a description of both of us. But they only found me."

"No," she gasped.

Aydan cast a side-long glance at her friend, shocked when she found large shimmering tears about to well over.

"Soris, I'm so sorry. I never meant for you to take the blame!"

Leliana brushed against Aydan's side as she lowered down to inspect the lock. With a nod, she drew the tools from her pack and began to make quick work of it.

"Oh cousin," he fed her a wavering smile. "It needed to be done. We both know we couldn't stand back and allow Vaughn to do such… cruel things. I was just glad you weren't there to be taken. They were calling for your death. Somehow they knew you were the one to kill him."

Aydan felt a shudder pass over Kallian.

"What…" he faltered for a moment, struggling to keep straight as they spoke. "What month is it? I feel like I've spent half my life down here."

Kallian's whispered response brought a groan from his lips.

"They told me I was to wait for Arl Urien to return home and sentence me. He never came."

"Arl Urien died months ago," Aydan informed him. "At Ostagar."

"A-ha!" Leliana cheered quietly as the lock on the door clicked.

The moment the door swung open, Kallian reached inside and took his weight, helping him from the cell.

"We can't just leave him to find his own way out," she hissed under her breath to the group.

Aydan nibbled on her lower lip, glancing back at the way they had come. They had slaughtered their entire way through the dungeons, but once they returned to the main levels above, who knew what they'd find. Kallian was right and they couldn't simply leave him, nor could she afford for Kallian to carry his weight everywhere.

She turned to Daylen as she pulled a hunk of cheese and some bread from her pack. The moment she handed them to the male, he snatched it from her and tore savagely into it. There was a moment's pause before a chorus of snickers rose among her friends.

"We have plenty," Kallian told him. "There's no need to choke yourself."

The elf smiled but kept gnawing away at the bread.

"Can you do something for him?" Aydan asked. "We can't support him the entire way."

Daylen regarded him before he gave a soft nod and lifted his stave. The moment the bottom grazed the ground, small vines of energy snaked along the calcified floor and encircled the elf's thin ankles, climbing up his legs. Soris' head fell back, a soft sigh slipping past his lips. His shoulders rolled back and the lines deeply etched into his face filled out. When he turned his gaze back down on them, his silver eyes - very similar to Kallian's - were brighter.

"Thank you," he said in a softer voice.

"Yes," Kallian replied as she turned to Daylen. "Thank you."

A furious blush reddened the mage's cheeks. "It was nothing."

"Let's go," Aydan commented, as she started to lead them back out of the corridor.

-O-O-O-

"My thanks," her voice was unlike what Aydan had expected. It seemed softer somehow, a touch more feminine than she would imagine for a ruler of a country.

Aydan pointed at the armor, a small smile tugging at her lips. The queen looked absolutely ridiculous. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Because there are two types of people in this household: those loyal to Howe, and those loyal to me. If Howe's people find me, I'll be killed. And my people will insist on escorting me back to the palace… where my father might also have me killed."

"Fair enough," she said with a slight chuckle. "We need to get you out of here, so-"

"Aydan," a sharp hiss caught her attention.

She cast a glance back over her shoulder to find Leliana beckoning her.

"Excuse me for one moment," she said before turning towards her.

Leliana turned to her with a grim look, a soft head shake and a pointed finger drawing her attention out to the foyer where her gaze fell upon the horde of guards surrounding the doors. There had to be a couple dozen out there, with Loghain's ever faithful Ser Cauthrien leading the force. Aydan spun back to Erlina, her narrowed eyes accusing as she watched her. She had brought only four of her people under the elf's command. There was no way they stood even a flicker of a chance. Had she brought the others, it would have been an entirely different situation.

"What is it?" Alistair murmured as he approached her.

"An ambush, that's what it is," she growled, her heated glare still on the queen and her servant.

Alistair leaned out around the corner, but she felt the tension rise in his shoulders. "We can't handle that many," he told he as he turned back.

She tried not to let her true words out. But she nodded, having already known this.

"What do we do?" Kallian asked. "Soris can fight, he's good."

"Good because he's going to need to if he wants to get out of here. Kallian, give him your blade. I want you to in the back, take out as many as you can with your arrows. Leliana, stay with Soris. He'll need your help. Daylen, you're with Kallian. Make sure they don't flank her. Alistair and I will take the front."

It made the most sense and from the grim nods, her companions knew that. But there was very little hope. From the last glance she'd stolen, Cauthrien had mages and archers as well.

"Anora, you're to remain here. I don't need you in the way. When you feel it safe, run for Arl Eamon's Denerim estate. He's waiting for us there."

"You issue me orders?" the queen sneered, her nobility obviously getting the best of her.

Aydan turned with a bitter laugh. "If you want to live, you might want to follow them. I would _hate_ for one of their arrows to take you in your pretty face." The sarcasm dripped from her words and from the widening of Anora's eyes, she heard it.

It was all too neat. Erlina helps get them into the estate, only to find out at the last moment that there's a ward on the door that they have to find the mage, who just happened to be in the dungeons with Howe. Now Ser Cauthrien, with more men that Aydan had ever fought, barred their way to freedom. For some reason, a nagging little thought nattered at her. She hadn't been teasing when she claimed it to be an ambush. And it appeared the queen was entwined as deeply as all the others. For now, she needed to focus on surviving. She'd rip out the queen's throat later.

Anora's lips parted and Aydan sensed the argument rising within her. She closed the distance between them, staring the queen in the eyes. "If one of my people are injured or killed here because of you, I swear to you, Loghain will be the least of your worries."

Color drained from the queen's face as her eyes landed on the bloodstained blade she carried firmly in hand.

"Let's do this," she whispered to her company as she turned back to the door.

Alistair's hand brushed against her just as she rounded the frame. When their eyes met, a sad smile curved his lips. "Don't do anything stupid," he told her.

She held her tongue and turned away from him.

"Warden!" Ser Cauthrien bellowed the moment they rushed into the foyer. "In the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men at arms. Surrender and you may be shown mercy!"

"Rendon Howe deserved what he got," she called clearly, her voice carrying across the length of the room. "He murdered my family."

"Lady Cousland, your words will not buy your freedom from this. You and your Warden companion are to be arrested, submit."

Aydan's gaze scoured the room. There were more men that she had initially thought. While she always believed that skill could accomplish anything, there was simply no way she could see them surviving the number of soldiers baring arms before them. Yet, surrendering seemed just as foolish as fighting. Alistair had been named heir to Maric's throne, challenging Loghain's claim to it. Ser Cauthrien was the most loyal pup of Loghain. Were the arrest simply for her she would have considered it more, but she could not give Alistair over to these people. She never should have allowed him to come. Suddenly, his life was more precious than any of theirs. She could not allow him to be killed.

"I will submit myself to the arrest," she called back. "But all my companions go free."

Even from the distance, she caught Cauthrien's surprise. "I cannot simply allow Alistair to leave here."

"He has done nothing wrong," Aydan argued. "It was my blade that murdered Howe. They are here on my orders. Anything they have done can be placed at my feet."

"Aydan!" Alistair hissed. "What are you doing?"

She turned away from Cauthrien, using the motions of her companions to keep her alert of the guard's movements.

"Alistair, Eamon has named you heir. I cannot allow them to arrest you. They will murder you as they did Cailan. Without you, there is no challenge to Loghain's claim. And we cannot fight."

He shook his head. "You cannot sacrifice yourself for us. I won't allow it."

Her smile was small. "You're not king yet, Alistair."

"But I am still your senior Grey Warden," he stated smugly. "You have no authority over me. And you will not give yourself to them to save us. We will fight."

Her eyes bounced to Daylen who stood firm, his stave clutched tightly in his hands. Fear slid behind his eyes with Alistair's words but he gave a slow nod. "We will stand with you."

Leliana and Kallian stepped forward. "We will fight."

"You will lose," Aydan stated sadly. "There are too many of them. Look around. This is an army. We are not." She turned back to Alistair, the back of her hand grazing against his stubbled jaw. "Do not argue with me."

He caught her hand as she started to back away. "I told you not to do anything stupid. I think this classifies."

The corner of her lips tugged into a hint of a smile. "People do stupid things for those they love."

She drew her hand from his before he could respond and turned back to Cauthrien, ignoring his shouts and angry words as she placed distance between her and her comrades, handing her sword over to Cauthrien.

"You have my surrender."

The guard nearest Cauthrien took her blade. Cauthrien herself stepped forward, signaling five men to surround her.

"My companions go free," Aydan stated once more.

Cauthrien's eyes danced backwards towards Aydan's group. She signaled once more and the rest of the battalion circled Alistair and the others.

"My orders are to bring you both in," Cauthrien told her. "While I admire what you tried to do here, I cannot disobey. Alistair comes as well."

Anger swelled in the pit of her stomach and she lashed forwards, her fist aimed directly at Cauthrien's jaw. Her guard pulled her out of the way before she could land the blow, while two more wrenched her arms down and behind her back, thick shackles sliding over her wrists.

Aydan met Cauthrien's gaze, but her words were calm even as Alistair stumbled towards her, his own hands shackled behind his back. "I will kill you."

"Perhaps," Cauthrien admitted with a slow nod. "But not today."

* * *

><p>AN: So chapter 40! Woohoo! And we've broken 15,000 hits which is pretty awesome in my opinion :D. So, the reason I did it this way was because I always felt as though fighting Cauthrien at the junction was suicidal. Yes, I know it can be done in the game if you lure her into the room, but in real life we all know how unlikely that would be haha. Her guards were simply destroy the door and murder everyone in their path to get to her. However, Aydan would not simply submit without good cause. Saving Alistair is cause enough for me. But Cauthrien would not disobey Loghain, we all know that. Hopefully everyone enjoys the chapter!


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

_Fort Drakon eventually settled under the command of the arl of Denerim. The current arl, Rendon Howe, now uses the fortress as a dungeon where the torture of prisoners often occurs._

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

She hadn't woken yet and that frightened him more than anything. He'd been watching her for hours, her soft breathing the only reassurance that the head blow she'd suffered wasn't too severe. But it was the dark bruise blossoming across her cheek and under her eye that angered him. And of course, the crooked angle of her nose still seeping blood. They'd been shackled and weaponless, there'd been no reason for that guard to smash his shield into her face, regardless of the heated words and incensed threats she'd raved at Cauthrien.

He'd asked her not to do anything stupid. Perhaps that hadn't been the right word. Rash, that seemed more fitting. At least they were together, even though locked behind thick steel bars. And Cauthrien had held true to her promise. Soris, Kallian, Leliana, and Daylen had been allowed to leave. Whether or not the queen had managed, he had no idea. This all seemed a very high price to pay for rescuing her.

The quick flinch of her face caught his attention as she thrashed to the side. Her fingers tightened at her side, her legs tensing.

"Aydan," he mumured softly, hoping to rouse her from whatever nightmare plagued her this time.

When that didn't work, he crept across the length of the floor and clasped her hand. "Aydan," he called in a stronger voice.

Her eyes flashed open and immediately met his. But before he could ask how she was feeling, her face crumpled and her fingers brushed across her cheek.

"Ow," she whispered, her eyes welling with tears the moment she touched her nose.

"I would imagine."

He helped her rise from the cold ground, steadying her the moment she wavered to the side.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Fort Drakon."

"Maker." She turned those eyes that haunted his dreams up to him. "I'm sorry. I thought they would take just me."

He shrugged, feeding her a smile to help lessen the tension. "We'll find a way out of this. We always do."

How, he had not a clue. He hadn't seen another person since they were locked in here. And since Leliana - their resident lock picker - wasn't here, he was at a loss for ideas.

"Any suggestions?" she asked, as though she understood where his thoughts had strayed towards.

He shook his head. "You?"

"Well the way I see it, we either find our own way out or wait for someone to come find us. Seeing as this is Fort Drakon, I can't really see our friends storming the keep, sort to speak."

"Which leaves finding our own way out, but that doesn't actually help with ideas."

Her smile was genuine, something he hadn't seen since Redcliffe. "Thank you Warden Obvious."

His brows climbed into the mess of hair draped over his forehead. A joke? Surely he must have been hearing things. This Cousland was always the serious kind. Always running the sharp end of her sword through people, always of the business mind. Yet, when she wakes trapped in a cell in Fort Drakon, she jokes. At least she knew how to keep him on his toes.

"Why am I in my leathers?" she questioned randomly the moment her hands had trailed down her length. "And your linens?"

His brows lowered into a frown. "They took our armor and weapons."

He didn't need to tell her how a few of the guards had laughed repugnantly as their hands lingered over her curves. The ache forming under his jaw had been the end result of that little scuffle. At least they'd left after he'd shown them what his fists were capable of.

"Oi," a dark voice called out from across the dungeon, rousing his dark thoughts from that one little memory he could have done without.

Both looked to the sound and found a soldier crossing towards them.

Alistair's attention only slid back to Aydan when he felt her gaze weighing on him. There was intent behind her eyes, a plan he saw taking shape in the crisp depths. Her gaze flicked to the guard once more and he nodded.

"You're coming with me," he leered, his murderous gaze landing on Alistair as he continued to clutch at his newly deformed hand.

Alistair held his tongue, but the ache in his jaw only grew as it tightened. This was the one whose fingers Alistair had broken after they'd traced a slow line over her chest. It only seemed fair.

Aydan seemed to be watching them both, clearly aware of the tension. Alistair stepped towards her, a show of protection, but at the same time, it gave him a closer reach to the guard. This was their chance. He found it odd that they had only sent one guard to fetch them. He had already shown how dangerous one Warden was without any blades. The only reason the man still stood in one piece was because it had taken three other guards to pull him off.

"I don't want no funny business now," the guard commanded as his good hand shook out the keys. "This entire keep is armed with guards, it won't take but a single shout and they'll be on ya like a pack of wild dogs."

Alistair merely nodded. But all that told him was to make sure Mr. Grabby here didn't make a sound.

The key slid into the lock and turned with a firm click. As he reached for the door to pull it open, Alistair drew Aydan behind him. He did _not _like where the guard's eyes had strayed to once again. Apparently a few broken fingers weren't enough.

The door swung open and he waited for them to exit the cell.

"Loghain wishes to speak with you," the guard informed them before nudging them forwards with the tip of his sword.

Alistair took a step in the direction indicated before dropping to his knees and spinning, the flattened palms of his hands slowing the sudden strike of the blade.

The guard's lips parted, about to call out to any others nearby. Alistair yanked on the sword and pulled the guard off balance, disarming him and running him through all before a single noise could fall from those disgusting lips.

Aydan hadn't even had a chance to move from his side before it was over. He rose from his knees, smiling at the look of utter awe etched into her face. It was usually she who did the attacking. But he'd picked a few things up in her presence.

"Did you do that?" she whispered as she pointed down at the guard's mangled fingers.

He followed her gaze. He'd never taken pleasure in bringing harm to others before. But at the sight of them, the memory of him running his hands down her length burned brightly.

"Yes," he said calmly. "He needed a lesson in manners."

"You're a little scary today," she murmured as she started towards the door.

"Aydan," he called, pointing down at a chest pressed flat against the wall. "Our armor is in here."

He'd watched them lock it up avidly, plotting the entire time.

She approached the chest, clearly thinking something through. She always tended to nibble on her lip as she did. It was one of the things he found endearing.

"I absolutely loathe the idea of leaving our armor behind."

"Then don't?" he suggested.

"We need to find some of their armor again," she continued to muse. "We can't take on the entire keep. But if we sneak out..."

He nodded, understanding her train of thought. But he was rather attached to his templar armor. It always seemed to give him an added clarity to situations. And he _knew _Aydan would miss her Warden armor.

She kicked open the chest and with a sigh, drew out her father's signet ring and her family blade. But that was all she took. As for Alistair, he pulled out the silver medallion he'd taken to wearing around his neck.

Her eyes jumped to it as he returned it to where it had hung before, her lips curving down at some thought.

"Right," he heard her mumble.

He remembered their little tiff that night too. Of course he did. He just didn't see it the way she did.

"Let's continue," she commented, her voice having taken a darker edge.

As much as he wanted to deal with this issue forming a wedge between them, now was not the time. So instead, he nodded and reached down for the soldier's blade, wrenching it free from the hollow of his chest.

It didn't take them long to find a room with spare armor and weapons. What did take a while was fining an armor set that fit Aydan. She was - after all - a slight bit smaller than an average guard. That little tidbit of information concerned him. It seemed a bit of a giveaway.

This time he led the way, hoping to hide her from their sights as they progressed through the keep. Surprisingly, the halls were all but abandoned. They'd passed two guards so far who merely placed a fist against their chest and bowed their heads in passing.

At the sight of a troop heading their way, Alistair took the next turn, hoping it looked intended rather than a last minute attempt to avoid them.

He drew Aydan within and pressed against the wall, watching from a hidden angle as the troop slowly approached. There were no shouts, no orders to hold, so far it looked like they'd be safe.

A strange smell surrounded him. He knew the scent of blood and could sense it now even as he lay in wait against the chilled wall, waiting. He wanted to search for the source but this troop was right at the door, gazing in. His fingers tightened on the hilt, ready to strike if necessary.

But from the slit in the door, Alistair caught a muffled order to press forwards.

At the sound of their retreating march, he straightened and turned, but Aydan was nowhere to be found.

He called her name gently, battling back the fear creeping within him. There was no response. His steps were slow as he pressed forwards into the room. The helmet was a hindrance, blocking half his sight. In a single swipe, he removed it and immediately found her off to the right, hovering over a table. He knew immediately that was where the scent of blood was coming from.

"Aydan?" he murmured as he approached her.

He glanced around her, finding two bodies stretched awkwardly across the table, both staring up at the ceiling with clouded eyes. The closer he got, the stronger the scent of decay became. They'd been here for awhile.

He startled at the small sniffle he heard. It came from her. She'd seen bodies before, they all had. So that left the question as to who this was.

"Ser Gilmore," she spoke in an aching voice, as though sensing where his thoughts had strayed once more. She was getting a bit more adept at that, sharing their link as Warden's. Darkspawn had a collective thought as well.

He knew that name. He had heard it the night she regaled her distressing tale. He'd fought to save her from Howe. And if he remembered correctly, he'd been her friend.

"How did he come to be here?" she mumbled. "I thought him dead."

He was now. But Alistair kept that to himself.

"Aydan," he whispered. "We need to keep moving."

Sensing his urgency, she nodded and brushed her hand across his red hair before stepping back.

"I killed Howe, old friend," she murmured to Gilmore. "Justice was ours."

-O-O-O-

Eamon's Denerim estate had never looked so good, in his opinion. The only bothersome part had been how quiet Aydan had grown with every passing moment. He could feel her distancing herself from him once more and he hated it. And it mattered not what he said.

"You're back!" a slight squeal came from a window in the upper floors.

He gazed upwards, shielding the bright haze of the sun with the plane of his hand.

"Daylen! Morrigan!" Kallian shouted at Leliana's side. "They're back!"

A low howl rent the afternoon air seconds before the massive beast rushed towards them, his utterly large paws slamming into Aydan's chest and knocking her down to the ground.

Alistair took a moment to enjoy her smile before helping her back to her feet.

They entered the estate with an entourage, dozens of questions being flung at them with every step. Aydan's soft voice carried every answer as he led them all to Eamon's chambers where he was sure the old man would be found pouring over maps.

As he slowly pushed open the door, that was exactly where he found him, only Anora stood perched over his shoulder, pointing certain things out to him. From the sounds of her words she was offering help.

They spun together, but it was Eamon who rose with open arms. "Maker's breath! It's good to see you in one piece, my friend."

"Indeed," Anora spoke, her hands clasped gently over her waist. "We have been praying for your safe return, Warden."

Her eyes were all for Aydan. He shouldn't have been surprised, of course she wouldn't acknowledge him. After all, he was _only_ the senior Warden in Ferelden, and the heir of Maric.

"It's good to see you're safe as well Anora," Aydan spoke in a gentler tone, quite the opposite of how she had last responded to the queen.

"I was… uncertain you would respond as you did, considering the consequences, I am glad you did, thank you."

"The consequences being taken captive to Fort Drakon?" Alistair questioned. "Or the one where you led us into a trap?"

That cold gaze slithered over him but he merely held her gaze.

"Now, however," she pressed onwards, ignoring his words. Ah, the joys of being treated as though he was nothing again. How he missed that. "We must work together. And quickly. My father has gone mad. I didn't believe it at first, but he is gripped by paranoia so severe it prevents him from seeing sense." It seemed a common thing among nobles, he thought ruefully. "He saw me as a threat, yet even now I'm certain he will be telling the nobles that you are dangerous murderers that have kidnapped and mind-controlled me. He may even believe it.

"You have only just arrived in the city, so perhaps you are unaware of some… recent events. Denerim has been in turmoil since Ostagar. Many of the people here are angry or grieving. Strangely, the unrest is worst in the alienage. Few elves accompanied the armies. They should have little reason to be upset. Which means that Howe and my father must have given them reason."

Alistair didn't want to hear anymore of this conversation and it was clear that Anora did not want to even speak with him. Her eyes were all for Aydan who was listening aptly, her gaze tight as she listened to the queen's every word. He had a feeling she was picking it apart piece by piece searching for her true intentions. Whatever those might be.

His gaze slid to Eamon who seemed to be of the same mind as Aydan. It seemed rather amusing that these two loathed each other. Perhaps it was because they were so similar.

Before they had gone to Howe's estate to free the queen, Aydan had asked if Eamon had approached him about finding a wife. And he had. Alistair had been there, listening to Aydan's every word as she tore the arl a new one. Part of him had even agreed with half of what she said. It was curious that this man now gave him his undivided attention when as a child it had been quite the opposite. And because of that, the arl had been quite adamant that Aydan was not to be his choice. She was dangerous to the throne, he'd decided, and would do nothing to help Alistair secure it.

He heard his name, something in mention of the throne. But when Anora started to dig into him, speaking of how he was no king, he tuned her out again. She wasn't the only one that felt that way, he was sure of it. The nobles had spent their entire life talking down to him, putting him in his place - as they called it - and Eamon expected them to bow to him now, simply because of blood?

"Not only that, Alistair is a Grey Warden. It will look like you are trying to put a Grey Warden on the throne, despite you claims. I am a neutral party - and I'm already queen." He listened once again.

"A Grey Warden on the throne is better than Loghain Mac Tir's daughter," Aydan conceded, surprising everyone in the room.

"I am not my father," Anora spoke up. "I assure you. Who do you think truly ruled this nation for the past five years? Cailan? I am what this country needs, not an untrained king who does not even want the throne. I can help you stop my father. Consider what I have said. For now, I will retire to my room. Warden when you have a moment, I ask that you speak with me in private."

"Which Warden?" Alistair asked, knowing it was Aydan, but still enjoying needling her.

That icy gaze once more pinned through him, but without responding, she turned and left the room, her elven servant in tow as expected.

Eamon began to speak then, once again, directly to Aydan. The two seemed to be able to hold a pleasant enough of a conversation when they desired to.

Sighing, Alistair took to pacing the room, his thoughts unable to be silenced. Anora wanted the throne, but Eamon believed she was not the right choice. But to Alistair it seemed the opposite. How was he the right choice? He had absolutely no experience in ruling a country, she did. He had no idea what was expected of him, she did. She even seemed to _want_ the position, which was much more than could be said for him.

He listened to Eamon's words, counseling them to investigate the alienage like she suggested after speaking with Anora. Aydan gave a small nod before turning and leaving the room, barely giving him a second glance. After a moment's hesitation, he gave a slight nod to Eamon before leaving as well, his steps taking him in the opposite direction of Aydan.

* * *

><p>AN: In case anyone was wondering about Gilmore being there, I was reading up on Ser Gilmore when I found this: "If the Warden chooses to be captured later at the residence of Arl Howe, they are shown a short cut scene of the insides of the prison and one of the dead torture victims bears a resemblance to Ser Gilmore, though the corpse can't be interacted with." So I thought I might do something with that. Anywho! Onto more political scheming and unrest!


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

-Alistair-

He paused mid step, his gaze sliding back over his shoulder to watch as Aydan walked into the room given to Anora. Part of him was curious what the woman wanted of her that couldn't be discussed among others.

"Hello Alistair," a highly pitched voice brought his attention back to the hall. Kallian stood just beyond another door, curving against the frame as she watched him.

"Kallian," he murmured with a slow nod. "How is Soris?"

"Quite well now," she smiled. "Thank you. The healers want to watch him for the night and then they said he can head home if that's what he desires."

"Good," he said as he turned to slide in through his own door.

"Yes it is," her voice was close as she followed him. He watched her as she slipped into him room and closed the door shut behind them.

"Kallian?"

Her smile was calm, but her eyes seemed to light up with laughter. He'd traveled with her for quite the long time, but having her in his room, alone, was a tad strange.

"Relax," she chuckled. "I'm just here to talk."

"About?" he questioned as he slowly leaned against the bureau.

"You, what else?"

"Me," he repeated.

"Look Alistair, we've all been privy to your situation. It isn't one I'd call pleasant. Let me see if I understand this correctly. My information comes from Daylen, and he can be quite... jaded, when it comes to you and Aydan. If I'm able to detangle the gossip as it is, you've been named heir to the throne by Eamon who has called a landsmeet in the hope that the nobles side with you."

He gave a brief nod. Why was it everyone seemed so interested suddenly in his life? Yet the one person he longed to discuss this with more than anybody wouldn't.

"Ignoring the fact that you can apparently never _stop_ being a Grey Warden, he wishes for you to take the throne and walk away from your Grey Warden oath. And if I understood Daylen correctly, this is something Aydan is not willing to do."

He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. "It's not that she's unwilling, it is that she can't." That much he did understand. "There must be a Grey Warden in Ferelden. We both cannot abandon the Order. Not with the blight so close."

"Fair enough. Now, if I've heard correctly, you yourself do not want the throne."

He froze at that, his eyes meeting her silver ones. "I wouldn't say-"

"Do you want to take the throne or not?"

He weighed her question, mimicking Aydan as he began to worry at his lower lip. "No," he finally admitted.

"Do you want Aydan?"

This was the easiest question he'd ever been asked. "Maker, yes," he sighed. "More than my own life."

Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Then this shouldn't be as difficult as you're making it."

"I don't understand," he confessed.

"By the gods, Alistair," she laughed. "Are you kidding me? Have you honestly not put two and two together? You are happy as a Grey Warden, yes?"

He nodded.

"You love Aydan, yes?"

He nodded once more, waiting for her to reach the point.

"And here we have found ourselves another, one who is already a ruler, and _wants_ the throne. She said these very words to you already today. If you want Aydan, if you wish to remain a Grey Warden, the solution is simple. Give Anora the throne."

He curved his arms over his chest and leaned heavily into the bureau. "It's not that simple Kallian. I can't just give Anora the throne."

"I know, the Landsmeet. But Alistair, if you take your name out of the running for the throne, the nobles will have nowhere else to turn."

"Loghain-"

"Loghain is dust," she interrupted him. "Anora has already said she would take care of her father. Use this woman to your full advantage. Side with Anora, put her on the throne, make an ally of the queen. Instead of putting your name forth as the sovereign, put her forward. The nobles will respond much more positively to someone they know they can trust."

"She is not of Theirin blood," he stated daftly.

"Who cares? The question is not who _can_ take the throne, but who _should_. This woman has been ruling the monarch since Cailan became king. She is what this country needs. What this country also needs is Grey Wardens. If the blight takes us, this is all moot. You need to be where you belong. As does Aydan. Anora is fighting for what she wants, don't you think you should do the same? Could you honestly see yourself happy sitting on the throne day in and out. Please, Alistair, you belong with Aydan, fighting darkspawn. You know this, you just refuse to see beyond Eamon's words of bloodline."

"Eamon-"

"Will make the best of whatever situation he is dealt. He is a noble," she laughed. "They know how to change sides. Besides Eamon is not what matters. Eamon is an old man in a changing land. What matters is what makes _you_ happy. You have to be true to yourself Alistair. Responsibility is a great thing. But how is taking the throne from someone who loves the country and is practised in the ways of ruling responsible?"

He pushed off the bureau, the corners of his lips pulling into a large grin. "Thank you Kallian. When did you get so good at politics?"

She laughed brightly. "It has nothing to do with politics, my friend. I simply listen. Now you should go before Aydan says something that destroys any chance of siding with Anora."

His hand fell on her shoulder as he passed by, smiling once more before he took off down the hall. The soft dulcets of their voices led them towards the room where they schemed, but their words stopped him.

"I would welcome your support for my throne," he heard Anora say. It seemed he had come in a bit late.

The mirror across the room was positioned strategically. He could see Aydan in the reflection, her gaze narrowed on the plant next to Anora.

"Your throne," she repeated.

"Indeed. I feel as though your voice will be strong in the coming days. The nobles will look to the daughter of Teryn Cousland."

He saw her grimace. Even he could have told Anora that was the wrong thing to say. "And I feel you are mistaken." Her eyes swept to the other side of the room. Even from the reflection, her sadness made his heart ache. "Anora, we rescued you from Howe's estate. That is the most I can offer you."

He straightened, shocked at her words. He thought Aydan would have jumped at the first chance to side with her. Just as he was about to step into the room, her words called him to another halt.

"I am not Eamon," she told Anora, her words biting. "I will not scheme behind his back or plot against him. If he wants the throne," she heaved a sigh and finally met the queen's face. "Then he has my support."

He caught a flicker of rage flash behind Anora's eyes.

"Look, it seems you both want the throne," Aydan mumbled. "Why don't you two talk about an arrangement or something?"

His heart leapt into his throat, he understood her meaning even before Anora did. But when she did, her eyes widened.

"You suggest that we marry?"

She shrugged. "It would solve this problem."

"While that may be, I was under the impression that the two of you..." she lingered, waiting for Aydan to pick up on her meaning.

Aydan turned away with a nod. "Very much so. But apparently that means little. It's something to think about at least. You would both get your way. Eamon would have the noble he would prefer for Alistair, I think. And Alistair could learn the ways of ruling from you."

"I thought you said you would not scheme behind his back," she repeated Aydan's previous words.

"That's why I said speak to him of it," she snapped, a little of her former self slipping through those words.

Anora's brows vanished into the thick fringe of hair brushing against her face.

"Or we could speak of it now," Alistair commented in a deep voice as he rounded the corner and entered the room. He had to appreciate what she had done, siding with him even though it was the very last thing she wanted in this world. "And I will tell you both now, there is no way I will marry Anora." Not when there was someone else that he actually wished would take that role in his life.

"Alistair," Aydan whispered his name as she turned with a pale face. "I wasn't... I didn't mean for..."

"I know," he smiled gently. "But if we're going to be discussing my future, I feel as though I have the right to have a say in that."

He caught the movement of Anora's lips as she prepared to speak, but he held up a hand silencing her.

"Anora, I concede to you," he said clearly. "You will have my support at the landsmeet."

Both women fell silent and he met both their gazes one at a time. Anora's was jubilant, victory lighting up her eyes. Aydan's on the other hand were marred by her tears.

"If you'll give us a moment please, Anora," he said as he reached forward and took Aydan's hand into his own.

"Oh of course," she simpered as she backed away to discuss things with Erlina. He had certainly made an ally of his brother's wife. It was weird to think that she was actually his sister in law.

"Alistair, what are you doing?" Aydan demanded in a hushed whisper as he led her back a few steps.

"Aydan, the only thing I want out of life is you. When I told you I didn't want the throne, I meant it. I apologize for getting caught up in Eamon's preaching of responsibility and blood lines. I am best suited as a Grey Warden, fighting the blight. Anora is best suited ruling the country."

The tears that he caught in her eyes fell over her cheeks. "You're sure about this? You're not just doing this because it's what I want?"

"That is part of it," he told her. "I want to make you happy. But it's also what I want. A win-win situation," he grinned at her. "But I do have one stipulation."

She wiped the tears away on the back of her hand before turning that glorious smile up to him. "Anything."

"Marry me."

She froze, those shimmering eyes turning up to him. "What?"

He chuckled at her stupor. "I said marry me."

"I heard you, you dope," she gave a watery laugh. "I'm just trying to figure out if you're insane or not."

"Clearly," he said with a mock frown. "I don't know why anyone would want to marry a crazy Cousland like you-"

Her arms latched around his neck before he could steady them, her hot mouth suddenly sealing against his. His arms encircled her as he countered for her added weight. It felt like it had been forever since he'd had her in his arms and he intended never to let go again. He slowly drew back, his lips grazing against her jaw as he moved to her ear and whispered that very promise to her.

"I see everyone is happy then," Anora's voice filled the chamber, a touch of amusement sliding between her words.

"Oh," he heard Aydan murmur as he lowered back down to her feet. "Right."

"I have your promise then that you will support me for my bid to the throne?" she repeated.

"Yes," Aydan said. "So long as Loghain sees justice."

"Agreed," the woman said. "Off with you two then. I expect you have much to... discuss."

Alistair clutched at her hand and led her through the halls, the two laughing as they went. Finally things were beginning to fall into place and he found himself even happier with the outcome than he'd originally thought.

They slid through her door and the moment the door closed behind them, he reached for her once more and yanked her towards the bed, laughing as they tripped over the random stray pieces of armor that were suddenly flying around the room.

-Aydan-

"Shianni!" Kallian's voice rang across the small courtyard as she suddenly rushed forward.

"By the gods, Kallian!" the elf that rushed forward to greet her looked nothing like Kallian, even though she'd told them all they were cousins.

The two women immediately dissolved into tears, clutching at each other with such strength that had her reaching for Alistair. He was the only family she had remaining and she felt the same, it seemed, as Kallian. The moment Soris, who had accompanied them from the Denerim estate, approached them, they opened their embrace to him, bowing their heads together.

They began to speak quickly with one another, Shianni informing Kallian of everything that had been occurring. It appeared a plague had stricken the alienage and Tevinter mages had come to help cure it. Strange that Tevinter anything would come to Denerim. Of course, it wasn't as though there were any Ferelden mages left. Aydan shared a look with Alistair and from the crease at his eyes, he was thinking the same thing.

"You're traveling with shems?" Shianni questioned tightly.

Kallian turned to Aydan and Alistair with a large grin, her hands pulling them towards Shianni. "These are Grey Wardens, Shianni," she told her. "I'm helping them with the blight."

Aydan stepped aside, expecting Kallian to turn to Leliana next and introduce her. Even Leliana expected it, as she sidled up to Aydan and waited. But Kallian barely even glanced at her.

"Where's my father?" Kallian questioned, rising on her tiptoes to search for him. "I want him to meet the Grey Wardens as well."

Aydan felt Leliana flinch next to her. She slid her fingers through hers, offering silent support. Was Kallian purposely avoiding introducing Leliana?

"Kally," Shianni whispered. "Your father was one of the first to come down with the plague."

Kallian lowered back down, her eyes narrowing on her cousin. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Shianni whispered. "They took him and we haven't seen him since. Valendrian as well."

"No," she gasped as she turned to Aydan. "You have to help me! We have to find him."

Aydan dropped her hands down onto the agitated elf's shoulders and smiled calmly. "We will."

"Daylen, Wynne, Oghren, and Sten, why don't you guys take a look around, talk to the templars, the guards, whoever, figure out just _exactly_ what is happening here," Alistair said. "The rest of us will take a look inside the hospice."

"They won't just let you inside," Shianni sighed.

"I wasn't entirely planning on asking," Alistair told her gently.

"I think I'll go with them," Leliana murmured before stalking off after the others. Aydan caught a pained glance from Kallian but she still said nothing.

"Come on," Alistair called to Aydan. "Let's figure this out."

-O-O-O-

Kallian had opted to remain in the alienage for the night with her father, Shianni, and Soris. They all wanted to make sure Cyrion was well after being sold into slavery to the Tevinters. As it was, he seemed well enough. Aydan found no fault in that. Leliana on the other hand, was seething. Not only had Kallian not introduced her to her father but she'd also turned down the offer for Leliana to remain with them tonight, keep an eye out for more Tevinters. Kallian had chosen Morrigan and Sten of all people for that task. The entire party had left rather quietly, sensing the tension between the two women.

"I'm going to the tavern," Leliana announced as they strode through Denerim market.

"The tavern?" Aydan repeated. "Do you think that's wise right now?"

"I would like a drink. If you feel I'm in some sort of danger, by all means accompany me."

Aydan turned a glance to Alistair who nodded. "I still have to talk to Eamon. It might be best of you weren't there for this specific talk."

Torn between the two of them, Aydan's gaze lingered on both.

"Go," he said gently as he lowered down and brushed a soft kiss against her lips. "The worst that can happen to me is a severe tongue lashing and much guilt. I can handle that."

Nodding she turned to follow Leliana. "If he gets to be a bit much, just remind him of all we've done. Maybe have Anora there with you," she schemed, an evil grin turning her lips. "That'll keep him quiet on his true thoughts."

"Absolutely despicable," he laughed as he turned and led the group away.

Aydan didn't realize she had a shadow until she heard someone clear their throat behind her.

"Daylen," she acknowledged him. "You're coming as well?"

"I wouldn't mind a drink, myself," he grumbled.

He'd been awfully quiet all day and Aydan had a feeling she knew why. But now wasn't the right time to have that specific conversation with him. They'd agreed to keep their engagement a secret for that reason. While Alistair didn't mind causing the mage a little pain, Aydan needed everyone's attention on the blight. But clearly he knew enough to know that everything had been worked out between them.

The tavern was actually quite quiet when they entered. A few nobles discussing the outcome of the upcoming landsmeet but she tuned them out. Aydan took the seat next to Leliana, leaving the one across the table to Daylen.

The moment the rim of the mug touched Leliana's lips, the words came pouring out.

"Do I embarrass her?" she demanded of them. "I thought we had something special," she stated as she tossed back the flacon. "Maybe it's because I am a _shem_."

"Lel," Daylen's voice was soft. "She probably just didn't know how to explain you to her family. From the sounds of it they don't know she enjoys the company of women. And after all they've been through, you can't expect her to just blurt that out, can you?"

"I'm not saying she should have told them everything, but an introduction at the least. She could have said friend until she told them everything."

"At least you're with the one you love," Daylen mumbled into his own mug, his eyes piercing through Aydan. "And not watching her with some buffoon of a templar."

"Daylen..." Aydan sighed. He wasn't even drunk yet and it had already begun.

"Ah my dear Warden!" a cheerful voice saved her from what she was about to say to Daylen.

Her eyes shot up to find a blonde elf standing over her, his own mug draped loosely in his hands.

"Hello Zevran," she said with a nod.

"And to what do we owe this magnificent sight? Are the darkspawn about to ravage the tavern? Quick, tell me now, I must save all the bar wenches," he laughed disgustingly as he dropped down into the chair next to Daylen, his one leg swung up over the armrest. He looked the picture of ease, as though he wasn't a Crow being hunted by other Crows.

"What are _you _doing here?" she asked.

"Drinking," he informed her with a nod towards his ale. "And hoping for the merriment that tends to follow. I see many a beautiful woman in dire need of a little pleasuring. Something I am quite good at, I assure you. Interestingly, not you, however," he mused, snickering as he threw back the rest of his ale. "Is it safe to assume then that our little templar that could, did?"

Aydan turned her blushing cheeks down towards the floor.

"Oh ho!" the assassin raved. "Most wondrous."

Daylen tossed back a full mug in two swallows, before signalling to the bartender to issue another round.

"Maybe I should go," Aydan commented as she rose. Daylen and Leliana could handle themselves, they were adults after all. And she felt as though she was only making things worse for Daylen.

She was waved away with noncommittal grunts and more ale. But as she turned to leave, she stopped, her eyes still lingering on Zevran. The assassin gazed back at her, a small crook to his smile.

"And what may I do for you my beautiful Warden?"

"One of your talents," she commented. "Is spying, is it not?"

"Indeed," he mused as he straightened in his seat and lowered his mug. At her questioning glance, he grinned. "When it is talk of business, I leave the ale. It wouldn't do well for me to kill the wrong person now would it?"

She nodded. "You also offered to join our group."

"Yes, but I believe you and your brute of a lover did not approve nor trust me."

This time she managed to hold back the blush. "Would you still like to help us?"

"Perhaps," he said. "I am quite bored here most days. The Crows seem to believe I am dead at this moment."

"Excellent. I expect to see you at Denerim estate in the morning with these two in tow."

She turned to leave but slender fingers curved over arm.

"You have not told me who it is you wish for me to spy on."

She gave him a wink before drawing away. "If you're curious, be there tomorrow."

Tomorrow was the day of the landsmeet and would decide the future of Ferelden. Afterwards, if everything went according to plan, Zevran could be made of use when the new queen took her throne.

* * *

><p>AN: Why hello Zevran! I have big plans for our little Antivan spy/assassin haha.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

-Aydan-

It seemed the assassin was in fact curious. In the morning he turned up with one grey faced mage struggling to cast a rejuvenation spell over himself, and a green bard who looked as though she was about to toss the contents of her stomach into the bush next to the estate. Wynne helped them both, while muttering under her breath about youthful days.

Alistair on the other hand, had been told by Anora _not_ to discuss their plans with Eamon. She felt the old man would do something foolish before the landsmeet. Let him proceed as though he believes Alistair will take the throne, she cautioned them. She expected that Eamon would turn to Aydan to settle the dispute. That was when it would fall on her shoulders to name Anora. Aydan did _not_ like this plan. It was much too underhanded and reminded her of Howe. But Anora reassured her it was the only way to follow through with this. Alistair promised her he would explain everything to the arl afterwards. But Aydan doubted the arl would speak with him.

Either way, it was time for the landsmeet. Eamon had woken them in the morning and asked about the outcome of the alienage. They told him the result - Loghain selling slaves to the Tevinters - and he told them to prepare. It was time.

Aydan's stomach was all aflutter. And she could only imagine what Alistair felt. He was about to face all those that had treated him like dirt throughout his childhood. And they would all think he was trying to take the throne.

With a silent nod to one another, they collected their companions, _all_ of them, and led them to the Palace District, where the landsmeet awaited.

The moment she threw open the doors, she found their way barred by no other than Ser Cauthrien. A slow smile curved her lips. She had a promise to keep and it seemed now would be her chance.

"Warden," she spoke quickly as she approached them. "I am not surprised it has come to this."

Aydan reached for her blade. "Surprised is not the word I would use either."

"And Alistair, if you were even remotely worthy of being called Maric's son, you would already **be** in the Landsmeet, now wouldn't you?" She turned back to Aydan. "You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who ensured you were born into freedom! But do not think you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet itself."

Aydan took the first step, then the second, lowering herself down to the same level as Cauthrien and slowly drew her brother's dagger, tapping it against her thigh with every step towards her.

"This man you so blindly follow," she spoke clearly, closing the distance between them. "Is nothing more than a murderer. It matters not what words you spout at me, I will not bow to you, nor will I let you bar our way."

Cauthrien's face closed into an angry knot. "If you think-"

Aydan struck, dropped low and spun out, her leg taking out Cauthrien's. The woman's gasp was quiet as she fell back. Before she could rise, Aydan climbed atop her and pressed her dagger against the swell in her throat.

"Hold," she called to Cauthrien's men even though her eyes were all for the woman she held supine against the floor. "You're outmatched," she told her as Alistair opened the doors and allowed their other nine companions, weapons drawn.

"Oh ho!" Zevran laughed as he entered the chamber, his gaze falling on Aydan straddling the woman beneath her. "I can see we shall have our hands full with this one!"

"Did you think I was foolish enough to enter two of your traps?" Aydan rasped in her face, ignoring the assassin's crude behavior. "Where Loghain is, you are sure to be chasing after him like the lost little puppy you are." Fear passed through Cauthrien's eyes and it was the first time Aydan had ever seen it. Satisfied, she rose off the woman and glared down at her. "I, on the other hand, am not Loghain. Step aside and you and your men will be allowed to live."

At her slight nod, Aydan pointed them all forward towards the second set of doors.

"Remember this Cauthrien," Aydan said. "I made you a promise the last time we met. Test me again and I will hold true to it."

"So be it," Cauthrien murmured from the filthy floor, her words chasing Aydan into the chambers.

"Tell us, Warden," the General called as his eyes skimmed over her large party making their way up the red carpet to him. "How _will_ the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince? How much Ferelden blood does Orlesian gold buy these days?"

"Teryn Loghain," Aydan addressed him politely. "The Blight is the threat here, not Orlais!"

"There are enough refugees in my Bannorn now to make that abundantly clear," Bann Alfstanna of the Waking Sea spoke up.

"The south is fallen, Loghain! Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?" another spoke up. Aydan found herself rearing around in the other direction to find Arl Wulff of the West Hills leaning over the dais, addressing the entire court.

"The Blight is indeed real, Wulff, but do we need the Grey Wardens to fight it? They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the Darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers. And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from when they came?"

"Your fear of this nonexistent threat will be the end of Ferelden," Alistair spoke clearly, circling to make eye contact with each noble as he spoke. "I was there at Ostagar, in case any of you have forgotten. My fellow Warden and I were assigned the task of lighting the Tower of Ishal. This was to signal Teryn Loghain's advance to which he instead retreated, leaving King Cailan, the Wardens, and many Ferelden troops to be slaughtered by the darkspawn. Not hours after, while their corpses still befouled the field, he returned to safer pastures, spinning tales of the Grey Warden's betrayal of the King. The Warden's defended the King until their final breaths. You speak of our treachery?" Alistair affirmed. "Your deceit has left Ferelden without a King in its greatest time of need. It is time for your crimes to be acknowledged."

"You goaded the king into making that charge!" Loghain shouted. "He _believed_ the tales. He thought that your handful of men would turn the tide for him, strategy and consequence be hanged! What would you have me do? Cailan's was not the only life in my hands. Should I have sacrificed the entire army for his mistake? Do not imagine you can shame me with Cailan's death. He was Maric's son. My king. No one regrets his loss more than I do."

"Then perhaps you should support those that are trying to save this country," Aydan spoke. "The darkspawn run rampant, the archdemon soon to make an appearance and you worry over such trivial decisions such as who is to take the throne. You seek to begin a civil war, Loghain, when we must be united against this dark threat."

"Indeed!" Bann Alfstanna chirped from above once more. "Do we not owe it to Maric to see his son on the throne?" That wasn't entirely where Aydan was going with it, but for now she let it slide.

"If he were a true son of Maric, I would not hesitate to swear fealty to him. But I see nothing of Maric in this pup," he growled.

"Blood is blood Loghain," Bann Sighard of Dragon Peak spoke for the first time, his voice carrying over the rafters. "You, nor any other, possess the right to deny blood."

Voices suddenly erupted from the room as nobles began to argue amongst themselves, but with each she listened to, more and more seemed to agree with Bann Sighard. Fear slithered through her as she listened to these people begin to speak of Alistair taking the throne.

"We cannot simply turn away from your crimes, Loghain," Aydan called the Landsmeet back to order. "You sold Ferelden citizens into slavery to fund your war. The alienage is in complete disarray, families torn from one another, blood running through the streets."

"What's this?" one of the nobles demanded. Aydan wasn't sure which. "There is no slavery in Ferelden. Explain yourself."

"There is no saving the alienage," Loghain admitted sadly. "Damage from the riots has yet to be repaired. There are bodies still rotting in their homes. It is not a place I would send my worst enemy. There is no chance of holding it if the Blight comes here."

"Yet, we did go there," Aydan informed him. "And we put an end to your Tevinter allies. The elves have already begun to take care of their home."

"Despite what you think, Warden, I have done my duty. Whatever my regrets may be for the elves, I have done what was needed for the good of Ferelden."

Her laugh was bitter. "How could selling the elves into slavery be good for Ferelden? Was sending an apostate to poison Eamon your duty as well?"

"I assure you Warden, if I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate."

"You truly believe the things you say," she sighed. "Allow me to refresh your memory. This apostate was promised by you that should he complete his task of poisoning the arl, you would fix his standing with the circle. I am sure many of you, by now, have heard of the evil happenings in Redcliffe. It all began with the actions of this man."

"Whatever I have done, I will answer for later. At the moment, I wish to know what this Warden has done with my daughter."

"Your daughter?" Aydan repeated. "I have done nothing, but protect her from you."

"You took my daughter – our queen – by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?"

"I believe I can speak for myself!" the queen's voice rose.

"This is where we find out if she can be trusted," Alistair whispered quickly to Aydan.

"Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the hero of River Dane. This man turned his troops aside and refused to protect your king as he fought bravely against the darkspawn. This man seized Cailan's throne before his body was cold and locked me away so I could not reveal his treachery. I would have already been killed, if not for these Grey Wardens."

"Loghain is not to be trusted," Aydan surmised.

"You wish to speak of trust?" Loghain argued as he turned away from his daughter. "Who is the one that murdered Arl Howe in his own estate along with every guard that stood beside him? It seems you are no better than I."

"I wonder if 'murder' is the right word in this case," a different voice spoke up.

Aydan's hand immediately clenched against Alistair's arm as she turned, her eyes scouring the entire crowd that formed behind them. She knew that voice. How could she not.

"Fergus," his name fell from her lips before she even found him. "Fergus!"

The crowd parted and at the back of the chamber stood her brother, tall and proud, his warm brown eyes focused on her. His lips parted and more words spilled out, but his gaze never left hers. "Lords and ladies, my father and I were to travel from Highever to Ostagar, to add to King Cailan's numbers. Arl Rendon Howe was supposed to be an ally in this. I was not present for the deceit and betrayal that came that night, but I would ask a moment for my sister to inform us all of the truth of what happened that night."

Her breath caught in her throat. She'd never had any intention of speaking of that night ever again and it seemed Fergus understood that. He crossed the length of the chamber and took her hand into his own, squeezing it lightly, giving her strength. "It's alright pup," he told her.

Her words wavered the moment she started to speak. "Rendon Howe murdered my parents," she told them all. "I will not bore you with all the details. I believe you can gauge the severity of that night by telling you that I am the _only_ person who made it out alive. Howe ordered his men to slaughter everybody loyal to my house. We were not the only ones to suffer. Lady Leandra, wife to Bann Loren, and their son Dairren were also among the causalities that night. Ser Gilmore, knight of Highever, was taken to Fort Drakon where he was tortured and killed. Believe me, I found him there myself when Alistair and I were taken by Ser Cauthrien under Loghain's orders." She cast a sad look to her brother, tears welling in her eyes as the realization kicked in that he truly was standing next to her. "My brother's wife and child were also among the casualties that night."

He gave her hand a tight squeeze.

"This, all done by the man that Loghain Mac Tir sided with. You knew of his plots. Everything he has done can be laid at your feet," she turned, her words bitter as she faced Loghain once more.

"I think we have had enough accusations for the night," Eamon called from the dais above them. "It is time to cast your votes."

Voices rose from the many different places within the chambers. There remained only one vote against them. She couldn't believe it had finally come to this. The relief she felt was staggering.

"Traitors!" Loghain bellowed, his voice slicing through her reverie. "Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives? You fought with us once, Eamon. You cared about this land once. Before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk. None of you deserve a say in what happens here! None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have! How dare you judge me!"

"Call off your men," Aydan ordered him. "You've lost."

"We'll see about that," he growled as he drew his blade. "Will you face me or do you have a champion?"

Aydan reached for her own blade, spinning it menacingly in her hands. "Believe me, I don't need a champion."

"Then let us see if you can handle a real man," his eyes shot to Alistair as he spouted the crude insult.

She nearly rushed forward right then, her blade clenched tightly in her hand. It was only Alistair's hand against her shoulder that slowed her.

"Easy, love," he breathed in her ear. "The rules still need to be determined."

So she waited with bated breath while they determined the rules. There weren't many, simply that no others could join in the battle.

"To the death then," Loghain sneered at her.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," she promised him. She remembered when she first met him at Ostagar. What a fool she'd felt Cailan had been. This was the man she'd believed they should have followed. Looking back on it now, she realized _she_ had been the fool. He had tricked her as he had done everyone else. Only Cailan had seen through him. And he had died for that.

She met his first attack, dancing just out of reach of his shield as he swung it around. It was the reason she never carried one. They were so cumbersome. She preferred two blades, which she now drew the other as she continued to weave around his shield attacks. She waited for him to lunge forward once more, and the moment he did she ducked under his outstretched arm and struck from behind, the edges of her blades slashing open the flesh beneath his arms. His armor was weak there. They were only small blows, however, and as he spun, she jumped back once more, avoiding the large sword that he brought down where she had been standing. Again, she took advantage of his misbalance and lashed out with her fist, smiling when it landed against the side of his face with a loud crunch. Her fingers ached against the press of her armor but she ignored it. Unlike Howe, he did not fall away. She saw his shield coming at her, her eyes widening at the sight of the massive steel closing in. Pain struck through her the moment he landed his own blow. Air sailed through her ears as she toppled to the ground some feet away, staring up at the ceiling, struggling to collect her thoughts.

Alistair was shouting her name, she could hear it, ordering her to get up, but for some reason she couldn't make her legs move. The silver of his blade narrowly skinned her nose as she rolled to the side, avoiding the blow.

"Perhaps you should let the men play soldier," she heard his grating voice as he dealt a swift kick to her side that she felt rock through her entire body. The sword rose above her, reminiscent of the Orlais soldier in the forest. But this time she remembered Alistair's words. _Why didn't you smite him?_

It didn't take long for her to draw the energy into herself, after all the practise she'd had in their travels. The sword was just about to find its mark when she released everything she had collected in a surge of power. Loghain's cry was loud as he was thrown onto his back.

Aydan climbed to her feet and leapt over him, straddling his chest with her brother's dagger pressed against his throat, exactly as she had done Cauthrien.

"It seems I am more man than you," she said bitingly, smiting him once more when he attempted to rise.

"I underestimated you Warden," he panted. "I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war. I was wrong," he conceded. "There's a strength in you that I have not seen anywhere since Maric died. I yield."

"There is no yielding," she told him. "You chose death. And for the crimes you've committed it is more than you deserve."

Just as she was about to draw the blade across his neck, an accented voice called her to a halt. "Wait! There is another option." She froze against him, her eyes flicking for the briefest moment to the man crossing the floor. She hadn't even known Riordan had planned to attend the Landsmeet. "The teryn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining."

Aydan's eyes rose to Alistair's, the both staring silently at one another.

"You want to make him a Warden?" she questioned. "That's madness."

"There are three of us in all of Ferelden. And there are… compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon."

"The joining itself is often fatal, is it not?" Anora asked. Aydan's gaze narrowed on her. How would she know that? "If he survives, you gain a general. If not, you have your revenge. Doesn't that satisfy you?"

"Absolutely not!" Alistair raved. "Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals, he tortured you! How can we simply forget that?"

"No," Aydan shook her head, pressing the knife harder against him. "Loghain has to die for his crimes. Riordan, we already have one Grey Warden recruit who can be brought into the Order. And he is a better man than this one."

"You can't do this!" Anora cried out. "My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people."

"Anora," his words were soft even as Aydan pressed into him. "Hush, it's over."

"Stop treating me like a child. This is serious father."

"Daughters never grow up, Anora. They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever. Just make it quick, Cousland," he spoke directly to her. "I can face the Maker knowing that Ferelden is in your hands."

Hearing Anora's tears made it harder than she would have liked. She stared down at the soldier beneath her, so willing to accept his death. And she knew it had to come but something in her broke the moment she wrenched the blade to the side, splitting his throat from ear to ear.

His blood was just as red as any others and just as hot as it scalded her skin. She stared down at him, knowing it was the right thing to do, after all the crimes he'd committed. She _knew_ this. She rose from his limp form and allowed for Anora to keen over her father's body.

"So it's decided," Eamon spoke as he came down the stairs. "Alistair will take his father's throne."

Anora's head snapped up to Aydan, hate emulating from her.

"No," Aydan spoke, her tone emotionless. "Alistair will not be taking the throne."

The entire chamber fell silent. She fed Alistair a quick glance, ensuring this was what he wanted. He fed her a calm smile and nodded, directing his gaze to Anora.

"What?" Eamon asked as he came to stand next to her.

"Alistair is a Grey Warden," she told the nobles. "And as Riordan said, we need all the Grey Warden's we can get. Alistair does not want the throne. But there is another who does. And she knows how to rule a country. Anora," she said, as she reached down and drew the young woman up. "Forgive me," she told her under her breath. "But it needed to be done, you know that."

The two locked gazes for a moment before she finally nodded. Aydan presented her to the nobles. "This is your queen. She has always been and will continue to be."

"Thank you," she said over the soft hum of nobles discussing the newest turn of events. "For keeping true to your promise." Anora stepped forward. "And now, lords and ladies of Ferelden. There is still a blight to defeat and armies to gather, and I appoint this woman to lead us in both. We will not allow this land to be further threatened by the archdemon. Gather your forces and await the commander's command. On the morrow, we shall begin our struggle against the greatest threat Ferelden has ever faced. And we shall triumph over it, for we **are** Fereldan!"

The nobles cheered as they always did at the end of a rousing speech. Alistair approached Aydan, his thumb trailing over her lip.

"Glad you remembered my words last time that happened," he told her, drawing her into his chest.

"Lady Cousland!" an irate voice interrupted her response. She turned in time to find Eamon about to chase her down.

"Go," Alistair told her and Fergus. "Take some time to talk. I'll hold off Eamon and explain what happened, commander," he teased with a wink.


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

-Aydan-

She sank into the warmth of her brother's arms, her eyelids fluttering shut as she absorbed his scent. To be held by family again was something she'd thought she'd lost long ago. As though his thoughts were similar to hers, his arms tightened against her.

"Oh pup," he murmured against her, their father's words falling from her lips. She tried not to respond to the flare of pain in her chest.

"I'm so happy you're safe," she told him. "I went to Ostagar and I couldn't find you. A soldier, before he died of the taint, told me that the entire battalion you were part of was slaughtered."

He brushed his lips across the top of her head. "Almost was. A family of Chasind took me in when they came across me. When I started questioning where I was they released me. That was the first I heard about Ostagar and Highever."

"What took you so long?" she demanded in a pouty voice.

"I've been two steps behind you since I left the Wilds," he laughed. "You are a difficult one to track."

"Loghain didn't seem to have that problem," she mumbled.

"I'd wager he did, seeing as you still live." His arms loosened from her as he turned and approached the window, gazing out over Denerim. "You've been quite busy. It was interesting to hear the people speak of you."

"Speak of me?" she asked softly.

"I made it to Lothering just as the darkspawn laid siege to it. But before they did I heard some intriguing talk of a rather sullen noble who murdered some of Loghain's guards. They were still scrubbing the blood out of the wood." He cast her a rueful smile. "I didn't know it was you until the town gossip mentioned the Cousland heraldry. They claimed you had set out to search for the Dalish. I found that odd, but decided to track you anyways. Finding the Dalish was difficult and they didn't believe that I had no intentions of harming them."

Her laugh was soft as she remembered those days. "They didn't believe us either."

"And I'm sure killing their keeper didn't help any," he glared playfully at her.

"I did _not_ kill Zathrian!" she gasped. "I simply... helped him make the choice to end his life."

"Eventually I caught wind of a Grey Warden at Kinloch Hold. Rumour had it you, in the words of the templar, 'pissed off' one Knight Commander Greagoir when you recruited a mage from under his nose."

Her cheeks flushed as she listened to his words.

"But of course by the time I reached Lake Calenhad, you'd already set on again. I waited at the Spoiled Princess for news and eventually a few of Loghain's men came barrelling in complaining about a Grey Warden who was granted entrance to Orzammar. Curious," he commented. "Seeing as Orzammar had been closed to all travelers due to the civil unrest within. So I immediately set for Orzammar where I met an interesting young dwarf by the name of Sereda who absolutely gushed over you. Unfortunately it seemed I had just missed you once again. The moment I told her who I was, she asked me to pass a message along."

He paused for a moment until Aydan crossed her arms over her chest with a sigh.

"She said to tell you the statue has been commissioned."

Aydan blinked blankly, not entirely sure what the dwarf could have meant by that. Finally, a burst of a laughter spilled from her lips. "Did you get to see it?"

"No," he told her, his gaze narrowing with curiosity. "It wasn't finished yet and she said to bring me when it was. What statue?"

"I didn't think she'd actually do it," Aydan choked on her air as she struggled to stop laughing. "I helped her secure the throne and bring her brother to justice for framing her for their other brother's murder. I told her to make me a statue of me squishing a darkspawn head."

Her brother's laughter chimed in with hers and it was the most wondrous sound she had ever heard. When the two found enough breath, he continued with his story.

"It was to Redcliffe I went next. Sereda mentioned that was where you'd been speaking of throughout your travels with her. But by the time I had reached there, Teagan informed me you were off searching for some ashes in Denerim. By the time I reached Denerim I decided to stop chasing all over the country to find you. I figured eventually you would find me. Sure enough, I was in the tavern last night when I heard a few of your companions speaking of this Landsmeet. I didn't introduce myself to them, but they told me you would be here today. And here you are."

"No," she smiled as she approached him again. "Here _you_ are."

"So, what about you? A Grey Warden, pup?" he questioned as he lowered down into the cushioned chair brought to them by one of the servants. "Care to tell me how that came to be?"

A comfortable silence filled the room as she debated on what to tell him. She disliked this story, but every day it seemed to get a little better. "Remember how I told you about the Grey Warden that was speaking with father in the main hall with Howe?" she asked.

He nodded. "I more so remember how your eyes lit up at the mention of him."

Such a life time ago, she realized as she stared up into her brother's newly lined face. "Mother and I managed to find father that night. Duncan had helped get father to the servant's passage where he was sure he would find us. Duncan promised to get me safely from Cousland Castle so long as I agreed to become a Grey Warden. He claimed it was I he had come in search of to begin with, he'd apparently heard of my talent with a blade. Father agreed and Duncan led me through the hidden exit and out through the trees."

"Was mother injured as well?" he asked, his voice quiet as he listened to the details.

She gave a slow shake. "Mother refused to leave father. She wished to buy Duncan and I more time to escape."

He didn't need to know that she'd been able to hear Howe's last words to their mother or her final cry.

"How did you survive Ostagar when all the other Wardens were killed?"

"Not all," she murmured. "Alistair is a Grey Warden as well. We very nearly did die," she told him. "We were saved by a witch of the wilds; Morrigan's mother."

She slid off the chest piece of her armor and showed him the visible scar above her heart. "I would have died if not for her belief that Ferelden needed a few Wardens to survive."

"Maker's breath," he gasped as he swept down for a closer look.

"I believe I said the same thing," a deep voice roused them from their discussion.

She turned with a smile, knowing exactly who it was and beckoned Alistair into the room.

"Alistair this is my brother Fergus. Fergus this is my... Alistair," she faltered, knowing that little tidbit of information might hurt him. It hadn't been long since he'd found out about Oriana. However her brother, as she'd always said, was the cunning one. His brows vanished into his mop of hair, his laughter soft as he shook Alistair's hand.

"Her... Alistair?" he repeated.

Even Alistair chuckled. "I believe she meant fiancé."

Her cheeks flamed as she turned away, but the smile curving her lips was true.

"Interesting," Fergus teased, reaching out to yank her back into his chest. "It wasn't long ago that you snubbed every male mother paraded before you. All it took was a near death experience hey?"

"Much more than that," Alistair joined in on the play. "There were a few times I thought we might kill each other. Well, rather, she'd kill me."

"Yes, that does sound like my sister," Fergus mused as he ruffled her hair, perfectly ignorant to her pleas and shoves. "Maric's son?" Fergus commented as he turned back to Alistair. "If I heard right? My seat wasn't that great."

Alistair gave a shrug. "It means nothing anymore."

Something of which they were both glad of.

"I really do hate to interrupt you two but Anora is asking for her Commander," he mentioned. "We need to leave for Redcliffe immediately. The horde has been spotted."

Aydan knocked her brother towards the door. "He can come with."

Alistair laughed. "Who am I to say otherwise, I'm just a Grey Warden sent to collect my future wife."

Never had she heard him sound so happy.

It was Fergus that made a gagging noise as he slid beyond the door, laughing about how he'd never thought he'd see the day.

-O-O-O-

It was certainly different traveling with an entire company. Every little town they passed, more men joined the horde, the size of their army growing with every word that spread.

A legion of tents dotted the countryside as she gazed out over the land from a raised cliff overlooking the rapidly flowing South Reach River. It was from here that they'd chosen to complete Daylen's joining, out of sight with the vantage point. The group was rather small, and quite somber, as she turned back towards them. The darkspawn blood had been acquired a mere hour ago. Aydan and Alistair had found it challenging to find a willing donor. But Daylen had no issue with the blighted creature. Not after the Deep Roads.

Alistair and Riordan were off to the side discussing the ingredients required. Both felt it foolish not to pass that information along. Never again would they be unable to create more Wardens.

"How are you feeling?" Aydan questioned as she approached the melancholy mage. He sat upon a log, staring up at the twinkling sky to which the dark clouds bordered. Within a day, Riordan claimed they would no longer be able to see the sun. And it seemed the mage was trying to absorb every bit of natural wonder he could.

"Nervous," he admitted as he cast a shy glance towards her.

She nodded as she dropped down onto a rock next to him. "I remember my joining as though it were yesterday," she told him. "I remember thinking if this was to be my end, I would walk into it bravely. I would see my family again."

A silence crept between them until he finally turned to her with a sigh.

"I'm glad you're here with me," he said, holding up his hand when her lips parted to speak. "Having you here gives me strength. That's all I want to say on it."

She weighed the response she would have given him but finally settled with a slow nod.

"I can't tell you everything," she murmured under her breath the moment she saw Riordan turn. "But I _will _tell you this: it hurts, more than anything I've ever born. And I'm sure you can imagine some of the things I've gone through. Maybe I shouldn't even tell you that much but I think if you're prepared, you'll have an easier time of it. Don't let it touch your tongue. The taste alone will kill you," she winked. "Toss it back like Oghren does his ale and know I'll be there to catch you."

His intake of air paused when Riordan came to stand before them. They rose together, their gazes locked as she offered him support.

His fingers closed around the chalice. She remembered the feel of it: smooth and cold even though it held the life of another creature within it. And when he lifted it to his lips, she repeated the words Alistair had said for her.

"Join us brother. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you parish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

His throat convulsed with her final word, his face scrunched as he strove to toss it back without tasting.

And just as she promised, when he fell, it was her arms that cushioned his blow; more than Duncan had ever done for her.

Fear climbed through her at the site of his stricken face. She glanced up at Riordan who reassured her with a small nod.

"This one is strong."

She let out a relieved sigh before lowering his head down onto the ground and rising.

"So there's four now," she said. "Not as much as any of us would like but I'll take it over three."

"Agreed," Riordan said. "If you are able to take care of him, I would prefer to scout ahead of the army. I will meet you in Redcliffe tomorrow."

"Of course," Alistair murmured as he strode over to the cliff where she'd been keeping watch.

Somewhere in that mess of camp was her brother. She longed to go to him, speak with him more. But Daylen took precedence. He was, for all purposes, their brother now as well. She couldn't help but wonder how Alistair was taking to that. It was no secret the two loathed each other.

The moment Riordan left, she posed that same question. His jaw slanted upwards as he thought on her question before, with a rueful grin, he turned those eyes back down to her.

"I have no reason to dislike it. I won."

"Alistair," she admonished, striking him lightly in the shoulder.

"It's true," he said with a shrug.

She flicked a glance back towards the man sprawled in the soil. Already his fists had clenched and his face turned away from the moonlight as he was stricken by his first nightmare.

"Best not to wake him," Alistair cautioned the moment she moved towards him. "He needs time to heal from ingesting the darkspawn blood."

"How long does he need?"

He turned with another small smirk, the beam of moonlight lighting upon his face. "Typically all night. But if he's like you, another ten minutes."

"Was that all I slept?" she laughed.

"I wouldn't call it sleep. You refused to do that. Not even the taint could convince you to rest."

The two shared in some soft laughter before Alistair waved down towards the army.

Aydan followed his gaze in time to catch their qunari rise from his seat and begin the hike up the angled path.

"Why don't you go visit your brother," he told her. "While Sten and I deposit Daylen in his bedroll."

With a nod, she took a single step before turning back. "Be gentle," she advised.

Alistair simply chuckled before signalling Sten over to the twitching man lying supine in the dirt.

* * *

><p>-Alistair-<p>

She nudged him, hard in fact.

"Ow," he pouted playfully, glancing down on her as he rubbed his shoulder.

"Look," she hissed, pointing something out off to their side.

Alistair followed her gaze, his jaw dropping when he caught their newly positioned queen turning a blushing face away from a certain Teryn Cousland.

The two had been traveling together all day. What it was they spoke of, he had no idea. But this wasn't the first time Aydan had called his attention to it. On more than one occasion he'd had to stop her before she stormed over and forced her presence on them. It was easy to understand her protectiveness. Anora, while she'd been rather kind to them, was quite the manipulative despot. They all knew that. The _only_ reason she'd been kind to Aydan was because she'd been promised the throne. Had that not been the case, he was sure the two ladies would have torn each other's throats out.

"Leave it be," he warned her again gently the moment he caught the shifting of her shoulders.

She turned back to the road leading to Redcliffe with a tight jaw. But when she heard his snickers, that piercing glare rose to him. Oh, Maker, he'd forgotten the strength of that stare. With an amused smile he lifted her hand and ran his lips against her knuckles.

He would have thought she'd be more concerned with Daylen. But after a quick check on him in the morning - to which they found him perfectly fine - she'd turned her attention on her brother and his apparent interest in the queen.

He meant to say something, voice some stray thought that he knew would disarm her, but a slight flutter in his stomach slowed his step. To some, it might have been a hunger pang or something similar, and he might have brushed it off as such, if Aydan's steps hadn't slowed in time with his. Those same eyes turned out to the line of trees bordering their path. So she had felt it also.

Her fingers slipped from his and she was running full tilt before he could even call her back. He followed her path, which lead her right to Fergus and Anora. The army paused behind them. Even her brother turned to her with wide eyes. It wasn't every day a rather small woman ran someone down.

Alistair immediately drew his blade. If she felt the same thing he did, it could only mean one thing. A moment later her hands landed against the swell of her brother's chest, knocking him down into the dirt just as an arrow sliced through the air where he'd been standing.

Alistair lunged forwards and chased after her, his shield rising in front of her the moment a darkspawn bolted from the trees, its blade clashing against his steel.

"Darkspawn!" Alistair shouted to the men surrounding them. "To arms!"

It was hard to concentrate, to tear his eyes off her as she tore through the small battalion of darkspawn that faced her. He'd never seen her so ferocious before, ducking and weaving seamlessly around their attacks, her sword running them through at every opening she received. The ground at her feet was littered with corpses, their tainted blood withering the grass beneath them.

"Alistair!" she shouted as she spun around another attack, her blade cleaving through the bone and muscle of the creature's neck. "Get Anora and Fergus inside!"

"No!" Fergus shouted as he buried his own blade hilt deep into the belly of a creature. "I'm staying."

She flicked a quick glance towards the queen, who huddled against a tree, her shaking fingers pressed against her lips as she watched the attack.

As much as he loathed leaving the battle, he knew she was right. The queen could not die here. Everything they had fought for would come undone.

He cleaved a way through the horde, his armoured hand latching down onto hers. Without a word, he pulled on her and led her through the masses, battling anything that came their way and shielding her from the sharp blades.

They weaved in and around the trees, using the safest paths to reach Redcliffe estate. As they climbed the stairs, he shot a quick glance back to find the Cousland siblings fighting back to back, their movements similar. It was clear Aydan was more proficient as she kept the darkspawn at bay with wide swipes. Fergus on the other hand dealt better in close combat. But without the armor to protect himself, it was a dangerous game.

"Where's Riordan?"Alistair demanded of the archer at the front door as he launched his arrows into the horde below.

"Inside!" the man shouted. "Some got in!"

"Maker," he cursed as he threw open the door and barged in with Anora following in his wake.

"We're fine," he heard a steady voice state calmly the moment the entered the main hall.

He scoured the floor, noting all the darkspawn were either dead or twitching. With a nod, he handed Anora off to Teagan before rushing back towards the estate doors. The moment he turned back towards the battle, his shoulders relaxed. Swarms of men were rushing the staircase, the darkspawn falling away at their shouts.

Certainly not the main horde, though, he noted as he slid his blade home.

"Aydan?" he called loudly, waiting as the crowd parted to reveal her and her brother perfectly unharmed.

The two locked gazes and shared a nod as she led her brother towards him.

"Riordan is inside," he told her.

"Go," Fergus told her with a light push. "I'll help get the camp set up and get the army organized. Go do your Warden thing. Figure out what's going on here."

She laughed lightly as she took to the stairs and followed Alistair into the estate.

* * *

><p>AN: So close to the end! And we now have another Grey Warden :D I'd always been curious about why Riordan wouldn't help the Warden choose any of the comrades they chose with. They are clearly worthy. And as MiiYuKira said to me, did Riordan only bring enough for one? haha


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

-Aydan-

"It is a relief to see you all unharmed," Riordan stated as she and Alistair and a few of their companions entered the main hall. "The darkspawn that attacked Redcliffe were relatively few in number, I'm afraid. It was assumed the horde was marching in this direction… but that is not true."

"Riordan tells us that the bulk of the horde is, in fact, heading towards Denerim. They are perhaps two days away from the capital," Eamon confessed, his words ending as they finished walking up the newly cleaned red carpet.

"What?" Alistair demanded. "Are we sure about that? I mean… if that's true…"

"I ventured close enough to 'listen in', as it were. I am quite certain."

"What does this mean?" Aydan whispered, glancing up to Teagan as he slid next to her.

"It means Denerim will fall," he responded. "Why did we think they would be heading here?"

"The Darkspawn line is wide, and many of them roam away from the main horde. Until now, most of them have been spotted here in the west. It only made sense then to assume-"

"That seems rather foolish," Zevran commented. "These creatures are not entirely brainy, as some might say. How are any of us to know what they are truly thinking?"

"Not to mention that we've been too busy killing each other to pay much attention to some silly old Darkspawn horde," Alistair added.

No, this couldn't be right. Aydan pinched her brow as she turned away from the many different people talking all at once. She needed to think, to plot. Somehow they had to find a way to Denerim before the horde could strike.

"There is, I'm afraid one other piece of news that is of even greater concern," Riordan called the attention back to himself, even rousing Aydan's thoughts. "The archdemon has shown itself. The dragon is at the head of the horde."

"Maker, preserve us," Teagan mumbled.

"But we can't reach Denerim within two days," Alistair stated. "It's too far."

"We must begin a forced march to the capital immediately, with what we have. Denerim must be defended at all costs."

Aydan stepped forward, her eyes dancing between the crowd of men gathering at the fire. "The archdemon is what's important here, is it not? Denerim will not be the only one to fall if we ignore that. We must keep in mind what the true threat here is and that is the archdemon."

"And only the Grey Wardens can defeat the archdemon. That is why we must go," Riordan said with a nod to her.

"Then we march, and hope the army we've collected here gives us the chance we need," Anora proclaimed. "Arl Eamon, how long before the army can set out?"

"By daybreak."

"Then let's get them ready. I won't let all those people die without giving them a chance."

"But how are we to destroy the archdemon?" Aydan asked.

"Yes, I was wondering that myself." Alistair said with a nod

"Then… you don't know? Of course not. You are both new recruits. Duncan wouldn't have expected…"

Eamon cleared his throat before turning to Anora. "I will give the orders at once, and will notify you the moment we are ready to march."

"That would be appreciated."

"And Alistair, perhaps you, Aydan, and Daylen should meet me before you retire for the evening. There are… things we need to speak of." Riordan commented.

Her gaze landed between Alistair and Daylan, her thoughts spinning as she focused on everything they had just found out. There was no conceivable method for them to return to Denerim before the two days. And they had taken much of the Denerim army with them believing the horde to strike here. It was like Ostagar all over again and the fear of that realization startled her.

"I will have someone show you all to your rooms," Eamon finished. "I suggest you all get some rest, while you can. We will need it."

-O-O-O-

"I don't like the sound of this," she murmured hurriedly as the servant showed them to their rooms. Daylen and Alistair had melded to her side, both just as quiet as she'd been as they climbed the stairs. "What is it Riordan thought we knew? And why didn't Duncan ever take the time to tell you this?" she asked, her gaze sliding to Alistair at her right.

"I'm not sure. But we certainly need to find out. Riordan's room is just down this way, I heard one of the servant's pointing it out to him a little earlier."

"I'm sure it's nothing serious," Daylen commented.

"You don't know the Wardens," she sighed as she shook her head. "I walked blindly into the Joining, not knowing it could kill me. Two other recruits fell that night. The Wardens do not share information willingly. Even within their own forces."

"Come on," Alistair dragged her forward. "Let's find out."

He led them down the hall, his steps pausing just outside Riordan's door. The two shared a nod before he knocked.

At Riordan's call, they entered.

"You're all here. Good. Please know I assumed you had already been told. Otherwise I would have told you think when you freed me in Denerim. I am sorry."

Aydan certainly didn't like the sounds of this. He was too contrite. If it were something small, she wouldn't feel the hand of death hovering over her.

"What is it?" Alistair demanded. "What is it you're apologizing for?"

"Tell me," he murmured as he turned and gave them his back, his fingers trailing over little trinkets placed in the room to give it an added homey feel. "Have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?"

This was the question that had been circling in her mind for the past few hours. And she had only come up with one reasonable conclusion. "I assumed it had something to do with the taint in us," Aydan mentioned. "Otherwise why would we have to submit to the joining?"

"That is exactly what it involves," he assured them. "The archdemon may be slain as any other darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough," he said sadly, turning back to the face them. "The essence of the beast will pass through to the nearest darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal. But if the archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden... its essence travels into the Grey Warden, instead."

Both froze upon hearing his words. Aydan was quite sure she understood the implications he was attempting to make but she wanted to hear him say it. "And... what happens to the Grey Warden?"

"A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the archdemon is destroyed... and so is the Grey Warden."

"Meaning... the Grey Warden who kills the archdemon... dies?" Alistair whispered bitterly as he rounded towards Riordan.

"Yes. Without the archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way."

Aydan felt as though someone had punched a hole through her chest. It was why he had wanted to recruit Loghain. And now she saw his logic behind it. Let the man that nearly put an end to Ferelden give _his_ life in sacrifice. If he was to die anyways, why not do it in service of the Blight. Instead, it was left to the four of them. But was four truly enough?

"Is there no other way?" she whispered. "Must a Grey Warden die?"

"As far as we know, the transfer of the archdemon's essence is automatic. If one of us is not presence when the killing blow is made, it is all for nothing. There is _no_ other way. For what it's worth, I am sorry."

"Why is this such a secret?" Alistair asked.

"We keep it secret for the same reason the Joining is kept secret. Who would become a Grey Warden if they knew the end that might await them? And yet there **must** be Grey Wardens. Without us, there is no hope."

Her gaze rose slowly from the stone floor, the decision weighing heavily on her, but it felt right. "I will take the blow myself."

"What?" Alistair demanded as he spun to face her. "Aydan-"

"While it warms my heart to see such courage, do not be so quick to end your own life," Riordan interrupted him. "I am the eldest, and the taint will not spare me much longer. But... if I fail then the deed falls upon you three. The Blight must be stopped now or it will destroy all of Ferelden before the rest of the Grey Wardens can assemble. Remember that. But enough. There will be much to do tomorrow and little time to rest before it. I will let you return to your rooms."

They walked slowly from his room, all three as silent as the night. Aydan's eyes swept slowly to her left where her future husband stood. And to her left, a friend. While she might not have loved him as he would have liked, she still cared for him as she did all her companions she'd traveled with. The chances were not in their favor tomorrow. If everything went according to plan, Riordan would make the final strike and end his life. But this was a war they were talking about. This was the archdemon. A giant dragon. How could they possible believe that only one of them would die? There were only four of them.

She could feel Alistair's unease as aptly as her own. But she knew he wished to discuss this with her in private. She meant to direct him to her room, where there appeared to be a fire already burning.

The moment they rounded the corner, she was surprised, to say the leas,t to find Morrigan standing in the center of her room, facing the fire. In all their time together, the witch had never sought her out.

"Do not be alarmed," she called softly from the room. "It is only I."

"Reason enough to be alarmed, don't you think?" Aydan responded.

Morrigan turned, her eyes bouncing between the three of them. "Tis a private conversation, if that is alright."

"Of course it is," Aydan sighed before motioning Alistair and Daylen away. "I'll come to your room after."

She knew the moment they were alone. The witch stepped away from the fire, her face peaceful as she gazed upon Aydan.

"So…" Aydan asked as she entered the room herself. "Is this where you betray me?"

"I came to speak with you," she countered. "I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole."

"I'm sorry?"

"I _know_ what happens when the archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed and that sacrificed… could be you."

Aydan startled at the sound of pain laced in her voice.

"I have come to tell you this does not need to be."

"Need to be," Aydan repeated. "Be clear Morrigan. I'll have no misunderstandings between us. And just how do you know so much anyways?"

"Flemeth knew many things. She taught me much of it. How I know is not quite as important as what I am offering you, however, and you would do wise to hear me out."

Aydan weighed the situation and Morrigan's words. For once the witch seemed to be showing some emotion but for all she knew that was simply a trick meant to confuse her. And so far it was working. "Speak quickly."

"I offer a way out. A way out for all Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice."

"Yes, you've said that part already."

"If you stopped interrupting I would get to the interesting part."

Aydan waved her hand, indicating she should continue.

"There is a ritual… performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night."

Aydan held her tongue. Of course there was a ritual. The question was, what type?

"It is old magic, from a time before the Circle of Magi was created. Some would call it blood magic, but I think recent days have taught you this is not always to be feared."

Aydan stilled at the words, a slight tremor of anger clenching her fists. "I will not use blood magic to save myself. The last time I used that, it cost the arlessa her life. And nothing comes without a price."

"Perhaps," she sighed. "But that price need not be so unbearable, especially if there is much to be gained."

"Speak plainly Morrigan," Aydan sighed.

She slowly crossed the room and took a seat of the massive bed. "What I propose is this: convince Daylen or Alistair to lay with me, here, tonight. And from our joining, a child will be conceived. The child will bear the taint, and when the archdemon is slain, its essence will seek out the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb the essence and not perish. The archdemon is still destroyed with no Grey Warden dying in the process."

Aydan froze, her eyes staring unseeingly into the fire. The witch had to be mad to think she would ever agree to this. "Why Daylen or Alistair? Why not Riordan?"

"The taint must be fresh," she told her. "Daylen took the joining only the night before."

"The child would be a darkspawn," she mumbled.

"Not at all. It will become something different; a child born with the soul of an Old God."

_Maker's breath_.

"After this is done, you allow me to walk away, and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish."

Aydan turned. "And what _do_ you intend to do with this child?"

The witch paused as though this was the one question she didn't want Aydan to ask. "I do not wish to tell you."

"I didn't ask what you wished to tell me."

Morrigan sighed. "The child will represent freedom for an ancient power, a chance to be reborn apart from the taint. Is that not reason enough to do it?"

All Aydan heard were more reasons why not to do it. She wanted to raise an Old God. As her own child. How could she help with this, knowing what was to come? Knowing the sort of creature Morrigan was asking to allow her to bare.

"I will raise the child apart from the rest of society, and teach it to respect that from which it came. Beyond that you need know nothing else."

"This is what your mother intended when she sent you with us," Aydan surmised. "Why she insisted that you come with us."

"She was the one to give me the ritual and told me what I was meant to do with it."

Aydan dragged a hand down her face, the chill of her palm cooling her flushed skin.

"This does not surprise you, does it? Did you not wonder why Flemeth saved your life, why she aided you? This is why. This is her price. What is important is that I am offering this to you now. It _will_ work and it _will_ save your life."

"You don't care about my life, about any of our lives," Aydan accused. "All you care about is getting what you want."

"So be it," Morrigan sighed. "Do you have an answer?"

"This is not just my answer to make," Aydan told her. "What you ask is highly dependent on Daylen." She purposely left out Alistair. There was absolutely no way she would ever consider allowing Alistair to lay with Morrigan. That was out of the question.

"Then by all means, speak with him," she said. "I will wait here."

"I bet you will," Aydan sighed as she turned and left the room. So many thoughts sprang to mind. While they were being given a way out, as Morrigan put it, she had to wonder if they actually were. The Grey Wardens past had given their lives to see the Old God's finished. Regardless of taint, could she really take part in a ritual that would bring an Old God into the form of a child?

Her steps carried her to Alistair's room quicker than she thought they would. But what surprised her was when she found Daylen seated rigidly against the wall, opposite Alistair. Neither spoke, but both turned to her as she entered.

"Well?" Alistair questioned. "What did Morrigan want?"

She looked to both their faces. The realization weighed heavily on her that tomorrow one or both could be dead. It was that right there that almost made her agree and ask Daylen to do the deed. But with a shake of her head, she cleared her thoughts. Now was not the time to be tempted. They needed to rationalize and think this through properly.

"She wants to save our lives, believe it or not," Aydan told them.

Daylen shrugged as he rose. "She's been doing it the entire time we've traveled together. It doesn't seem unlikely that she'd wish to continue helping."

"It's not just to help us," she told him. "The night Flemeth saved us," she glanced at Alistair. "There was a reason."

"I knew it," he told her in a soft voice. "I asked Flemeth, but she ignored it. I knew there had to be a reason the Witch of the Wilds would save us."

She gave a slow nod. "It seems Flemeth had given Morrigan a ritual. They knew a Grey Warden must be sacrificed to destroy the archdemon and they know of a ritual that can prevent that."

"What ritual?" It was Daylen that questioned that. "I was raised in the Circle. I would know of something like this."

"Blood magic," Aydan confirmed, meeting his suspicious gaze. "On the night before the battle."

"Blood magic," Alistair spat. "The last time we did that-"

"I know," Aydan agreed. "I said that same thing."

Daylen took to pacing the room. "Tell me more."

"She has asked for you to lay with her tonight," Aydan paused the moment his gaze snapped up to her, his cheeks flaming. "And I won't lie to you Daylen. It would result in a child."

The poor mage stumbled into the bureau with her words.

"Maker," Alistair groaned.

"Why me?" he gasped.

She turned her gaze back down to the soiled floor. "She claims the taint must be fresh. Riordan is too old."

"And him?" he demanded, jerking his chin towards Alistair.

Aydan didn't respond. She didn't know how to say the words. But he seemed to understand from her silence.

"I see, you're not willing to give him to her, but you are me."

"To be honest, I'm not willing to give either of you to her."

Both men fell silent, Daylen's eyes widening at her words.

Blushing furiously, she held up her hand. "That's not what I meant. I simply meant this seems a harsh price to pay in order to save one of our lives. I have not told you what this child would be." They waited as she took the time to collect her thoughts. "She claims that by conceiving a child of the taint, the soul of the Old God, when slain, will seek out the child. Much like how Riordan claimed we would destroy it. She says the ritual allows for the child to mould to the essence. The child will _be_ an Old God."

Both Daylen and Alistair lowered back to their own seats, staring forward blankly as they took in everything she had just said.

"As much as I loathe the idea of one of us having to sacrifice ourselves - Riordan included - I simply cannot justify that as enough of a reason to bring an Old God back into the world. The Grey Wardens have been sacrificing themselves for so long, hoping to rid this world of all these Gods. Whether the child is tainted or not, it will call to the darkspawn, just as they do before they are taken into the dragon. I see how this would rid us of an archdemon, but not the Blight."

"I agree," Alistair stated sadly. "She seeks to gain something that we cannot give her. It is our duty to destroy the Old Gods, not give them another form to take."

Aydan turned to Daylen, waiting as he held his head in his hands.

"Why do you look to me?" he mumbled from his palms.

"You are a Grey Warden now as well," she told him. "It's not just our call."

He lifted his gaze from the floor and met hers. "As much as it pains me to think of one of us dying tomorrow, I cannot agree to this either."

"So be it," Aydan echoed Morrigan's earlier words. "I will tell her. Daylen, perhaps you should room with another of our companions tonight. It wouldn't do for Morrigan to surprise you in the middle of the night."

He gave a bereft nod. And as she left the room to inform Morrigan that they would not be partaking in her little ritual, she felt his eyes tracking her every move on the way out.

* * *

><p>AN: Our second last decision has been made! All that remains is who will be the one to make the sacrifice :D


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

-Aydan-

Riordan had been right. The next day as they set out, it was to the dim husk of light struggling to peek through the thick swirling clouds covering the expanse of the sky. Every step they took her eyes sought out more withered plants. Even the air felt musty.

Aydan had just finished informing him of all Morrigan had spoke of the night before. The man had looked absolutely aghast at the idea and was quite thankful they hadn't taken her up on it. And everyone seemed relieved that she had left. She'd been quite riled up. For a while Aydan had sat outside Daylen's door to ensure Morrigan didn't show up. Until Alistair pointed out that as a shapeshifter, she had other ways in.

But that still left the upcoming battle and the end result to constantly plague Aydan's thoughts. Having just found Fergus again, she loathed the idea of losing him once more. But losing Alistair hurt even more to think of. And she had to be realistic. Who was more likely to kill the archdemon? Two trained warriors or a mage? She hadn't voiced this opinion for fear of insulting Daylen. He was quite adept at his spells, more talented than most mages she'd met - granted there hadn't been many. But most of the larger fights were fought by Alistair and herself. And while Riordan had told them the sacrifice was his to make, she had to prepare for the chance that he'd fail. It was the night before as she lay pressed against Alistair's side that she'd promised herself she would take the blow if Riordan could not. A world without Alistair was no world at all. And she could not ask Daylen to do something she was not willing to do herself.

Strength and honour, her father would say, followed by 'we do what must be done'. The archdemon must be slain. And if it fell to her, so be it. She let the strength of the Cousland name fill her with every step they marched towards Denerim.

-O-O-O-

Pouring over maps, that was where he found her when she heard him stumble over her mabari sized hound, curled at the edge of the makeshift table. The candle next to her had diminished down to a wick, the flame flickering with every ounce of life it struggled to gain. It was the only light by which she could read the maps. The moon hadn't been spotted for three nights now. A sign of what they had entered.

"Aydan," he called gently to her. "You should come to bed. We'll reach Denerim tomorrow afternoon. You need all the rest you can get."

She heard his words but she needed more time. The one thing she couldn't find. Time to find more men, to train them, to memorize the capital, to spend in Alistair's arms. Yet it was the one thing kept from her.

Her fingers closed around the small amounts of wax remaining and lifted it over the map. There were too many entrances that needed guarding. The alienage, the main entrance, the back, all the small alleys that only the Maker knew where they led.

Wax dribbled over the aged parchment, hardening before she found the time to brush it away.

"Aydan," his voice was softer this time, but it was his pale hand flattening over the map that drew her gaze.

She stared into his shadowed face, almost having forgotten what it looked like these past days. She'd been so consumed with the army, always rushing to Anora's side as they discussed strategy, before marching to Riordan to ask more questions, then lastly issuing her own people more orders, often contradicting the ones she'd given previously.

"Your sword," she murmured distractedly. "It needs sharpening. Owen has been taking care of that. You should take yours to him."

"Aydan-"

"Your armor, Wade should have a look at that. It might need repairs."

"I know all this," he sighed.

She rose to her feet. "You should take a spare blade just in case. Maybe a dagger as well."

"Aydan…" he tried again.

The armor he wore now had once belonged to Cailan, or so Eamon had told him. She had no idea if this was meant to make him feel guilty for giving the throne to Anora or meant as a gift. Either way, he'd taken it. His armor had been left in Fort Drakon. As for Aydan, Wade had given her a gift made of drake scales. She didn't quite like it as much as her Warden armor she'd owned but it was just as strong, if not more, which was what she needed. But she missed the emblazed griffon.

"I think I have a spare," she continued, about to rummage through her possessions when a large hand gripped her upper arm and spun her into the width of his chest. Before she could even mumble a single coherent word, his mouth sealed over hers, his fingers sliding to her back and pressing her firmly against him. All thoughts of the upcoming battle vanished as her hands climbed up his muscled arms and loped around his neck. The heat of his tongue flicked against her lips, urging them to part. The moment they met in a tangled dance she sank into his warmth. His fingers trailed down her back until he cupped her backside and lifted her against him. His steps were slow as he led them back against the table and balanced their weight against it, pressing her knees against the cold wood. She felt a cold brush of air graze against her skin the moment his fingers delved beneath her undershirt.

"Is this… a private affair or can anyone join?" an amused voice sounded from behind them.

Aydan drew away from Alistair with a gasp and shot a quick glance over her shoulder to find the assassin leaning casually against a tree, his warm brown eyes twinkling with merriment.

"Zevran!" she cursed as Alistair lowered her down the length of his body and steadied her.

"I am impressed you still know my name after such lavish attentions."

"Believe me," she growled as she stalked over towards him. "I won't be forgetting your name anytime soon. What do you want?"

The elf pushed off the bark of the tree with a burst of laughter. "Then my apologies to the templar.

"You have thirty seconds," she told him through grit teeth, "before I reach for my blade."

His laughter was quite abrasive. "Fair enough Warden. I'd hoped to discuss this assignment you wished to give me. I showed the morning you asked me to. I believe it is time for you to hold to your word."

His words were true enough but with the information recently received from Riordan, Aydan wasn't sure if now was the right moment.

"How about I give you two a few minutes," Alistair suggested as he pushed away from the table.

Aydan was about to argue when the assassin thanked him and waited for him to leave.

"You're not pushy at all," she mumbled as she lowered back down to the seat Alistair had roused her from.

He chuckled once more. "I would like to have the details before the battle tomorrow. One never knows what the morrow may bring."

That was true enough. She flicked a quick glance up at him before finally nodding an motioning him to sit.

"I would actually prefer if you did not join the battle tomorrow," she told him.

His brows rose. "Interesting. And may I say not what I expected."

"Anora will be remaining behind," she commented vaguely, but her eyes met Zevran's pointedly.

To her pleasure, the elf curved back with a wicked grin. "There are only two scenarios I see coming from this. One is that you wish me to romance the queen, which I highly doubt as your brother seems the one interested in that. The other is to... watch after her, as some might say. This I find more likely as you were inquiring about my skills as a spy."

"I simply want to be kept in the loop with Anora. She has been given… a few reasons to be upset with us."

"You are referring to murdering her father before all the nobles, or perhaps being absent when her husband was slaughtered with all the other Grey Wardens while you live, or traveling with her husband's estranged brother who many of the nobles actually wanted to see on the throne?" She lifted wide eyes towards him as he hitched a slender hip against the table. He shrugged lithely. "I listen."

"I suppose all of the above," she agreed. "Only the Maker knows how tomorrow will end. The only certainty is that Anora _will_ take the throne. Therefore we need you for this task. However, you can trust Alistair in this matter as well," she told him, implying heavily towards the outcome she foresaw happening.

"I see," he responded with a nod. "And can Daylen also be trusted with this matter, as a last resort?"

"If Daylen is the only one left, this is a nonissue," she told him as she rose from her seat.

"Very well, Warden. I wish you all the best tomorrow and hope that I do, in fact, have dealings with you afterwards."

She wasn't entirely sure how to respond as he made his way back into the thick shadows. So instead she gave a soft nod to his back before turning and seeking out Alistair.

-Alistair-

"I didn't expect to see you here," he commented as he strolled past the fire. The young woman seated before it looked a little… lost.

"Where else would I be?" Kallian questioned. "It's the eve before battle."

"I meant, I thought you'd be with Leliana."

She still hadn't lifted her gaze from the campfire. Instead it was her shoulders that rose. "I am not always with her."

That was news to him. The two had been practically inseparable since meeting. How strange that the night before their biggest challenge yet, the two were apart. He remembered Leliana's reaction in the alienage and wondered if that had something to do with this.

Having still not even glanced up from the flickering flames once, Alistair lowered down onto the log next to her. "Is everything alright?" he asked softly.

He hadn't realized she was crying until she swiped her arm across her face. "Just fine. What makes you think something would be wrong?"

His chuckle was light as he turned her face towards him and brushed away the stray tear she had missed. "Because I don't think I've seen you cry once in all the time we've traveled together."

Her breath slipped past her lips in a long sigh. "Leliana is upset with me."

"Because of the alienage?" he asked.

Her laugh was bitter. "I suppose I have that to thank for this also. But no, there are other reasons."

"Such as?" he asked.

Her hesitation impregnated the heavy air. She nibbled gently on her lower lip, her heavy lidded eyes darting everywhere. "Well…"

"Alistair?" he heard Aydan's voice call from the thicket. It seemed tonight was the night for interruptions.

Kallian's shoulders slumped as she turned back to the fire. "It's not important."

"Sure it is," he consoled her. "If you want to talk about something, I'm all ears."

Of course, at that moment, Aydan staggered through the bushes and stumbled towards them.

"No, it's alright," she gave him a watery smile. "You should spend tonight with Aydan. Tomorrow is a big day, for all of us. I'm fine, really, this helped."

"I didn't do anything," he told her, still refusing to stand.

"Please, Alistair," she whispered. "Just go. I want to be alone."

If it hadn't been for the complete desperation in her voice the moment Aydan neared them, he might have stayed. But he saw the panic in her silver eyes. He dropped his hand down onto her shoulder before rising. "Alright, but if you do need to talk, I'm here."

"Thanks," she murmured so sadly.

"There you are," Aydan peered up at him from under the thick fringe of her lashes.

Regardless of Kallian's obvious pain, that didn't stop the smile that curved his lips when Aydan's fingers slid through his and started to lead him away.

"I was thinking we could finish that rather important discussion we were having before Zevran interrupted us," she murmured as she dragged him willingly to her tent.

Conversation? Lips were involved. That made it a type of conversation, he mused.

* * *

><p>AN: A little short, I know. But I wanted to leave this chapter as it is, slightly happy, compared to the upcoming battle which needs to be its own chapter :D. The good news? This story will be finished this weekend, yay! So here we go, onto Denerim, the archdemon, and a sacrifice that must be made. Votes on who it should be?


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

-Aydan-

The air was thick with heavy clumps of ash, falling from the blood red sky. All around them stood withered trees and rotted grass that clung to their boots. From the distance, the screams and cries of the villagers had assaulted their ears but now that they stood just beyond the city walls, they were met with only the sounds of a raging fire that consumed the entire city. And as much as Aydan struggled to hold her thoughts centered on this battle, here and now, fogged memories of Cousland Castle rose before her eyes. She had watched then as her home was razed, as she did now.

"Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde!" Anora called back to them, turning from Aydan's side and marching before the army. "Gaze upon them now, but fear them not! This woman beside me is a native of Ferelden, now risen to the ranks of the Grey Wardens! She is proof that glory is within reach of us all! She has survived despite the odds and without her, none of us would be here! Today, we save Denerim! Today, we avenge the death of my husband, your King Cailan, but most of all, today we show the Grey Wardens that we remember and honour their sacrifice! For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens!"

The ground rumbled beneath her feet as the army at her back began to march in unison, their uplifted cries piercing through the haze of smoke billowing towards them. It seemed Anora's words had given them their spirit back, but not hers.

"Hey pup," a low voice approached her from behind.

She turned and smiled bravely at her brother. "You're to stay with Anora," she told him.

His eyes tightened but she held up a hand before he could argue. "You may be Teryn, but I'm her Commander."

With a crooked smile he shook his head before sweeping her into his arms. "Be safe," he murmured in her ear. "And return to me."

She hadn't told her brother of the Grey Warden responsibility. And she wouldn't. Nor would she reassure him with false promises. Instead she brushed her hand against the back of his, before turning back to the sight before them.

At a sudden quiver in the depth of her stomach, her eyelids fluttered shut and she began to rock back and forth. Music lifted within her, drowning out the jeers and shouts from the men she knew surrounded her. A quick flash stole her breath, the image of those wretched eyes, peering down at her. One by one the individual darkspawn began to take shape in her mind, glowing iridescently as singular little fires; the brightest of those stood two. From her study of the maps, she knew them to be within the Market District and the Alienage. As though sensing her reaching out to them, the music broke over her with a swell of power, beckoning her to join them. But the brightest and most persuasive voice belonged to the largest blaze hovering above her.

"Aydan," someone murmured next to her, their heavy hand shaking her out of her reverie. She opened her eyes once more, turning them up towards the sky where a dark dot awaited in the distance, its wings outstretched as it soared over the city.

"The archdemon," she called, her hand rising slowly as she pointed to it.

"Yes," Riordan acknowledged her. All around them the men of Ferelden surged forward, their weapons held high to the skies as they rushed towards the line of darkspawn.

"Are you ready?" Riordan questioned. To her right stood Alistair and Daylen and all three nodded at the same time. For Denerim the battle might have already been lost. But for Ferelden, it was just beginning. "Remember," he murmured to Aydan as the other two took chase after their army of dwarves, elves, templars, and men. "If I fall, you _must_ kill the archdemon. We must not fail. Otherwise Ferelden is lost."

The two shared a glance before she gave a nod. "I promise."

-O-O-O-

She felt the loss ripple through the collective mind of the darkspawn the moment her blade sliced through the neck of the second general. They knew. And that knowledge fed her with such satisfaction, gave her the belief that they might even find a way to end this, here, today. If Riordan's words were true, the archdemon would have no one to reach out to for help when they attacked. For the first time in many days, a single beam of light shone down on them. There was hope.

A piercing cry shook the crumbling buildings. Aydan's gaze shot up to find the archdemon thrashing in the sky, fire spewing from its blackened lips.

"What is it?" Alistair murmured next to her.

But she couldn't look away. There was something small clinging to its back and a shimmer of steel as it ripped through the flesh of the dragon.

"No!" she cried the moment the man fell from its back, his limbs flailing as he spiralled towards the ground beneath him. "Riordan!" she shrieked, struggling against Alistair's sudden grip encircling her arm.

He met the cement with a sick crunch heard even by them in the distance. The tiny spark of hope dwindled in her chest as though drowned in water. She remembered her promise. And as her weary gaze rose to Alistair, she knew she would hold to it. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade as she drove them onwards, using the essence of the archdemon to direct their course. Now was not the time to grieve. She would join him soon.

-O-O-O-

Daylen, Alistair, Kallian, and Aydan raced up the stairs together, the piercing cries of the archdemon curdling her blood. They'd destroyed hordes of darkspawn to get this point; ogres, emissaries, shrieks, every known form of darkspawn they'd ever met. She'd thought by the time they made it to the roof, she'd have accepted her fate, yet with another cry and searing heat flowing down the staircase, she felt a surge of fear. She wasn't ready for her life to end yet. But the Maker never took that into consideration. He certainly hadn't for her parents. At least soon she'd be with them.

The final metal door before them dangled from the hinges, folded inwards with claw marks the width of her body. A massive chunk was missing from the upper right corner as though something had taken a large bite from it. But with a calming breath, she pushed through.

The scene before her was horrifying. Dozens of men pressed down on the archdemon, their blades held out as though to ward off any sudden attacks. Bodies lay in piles, thrown recklessly about the roof, blood splattering every inch she could see.

"For Ferelden!" she called to her group, locking gazes with them each before with a nod, they rushed forward.

The archdemon spun, those slit eyes meeting Aydan's. And just like her dream, she shoved off the ground, her feet pushing against the rubble as she picked up speed, pushing towards the beast. From the corner of her eye, she caught a horde of darkspawn surrounding them, their clawed fists slicing at the air as they held back and watched. But she did not stop. Just as her dream, she would never stop. Not until the blood of dragon spilled over the roof. Not until she buried her blade into the thick muscle of its head.

She threw herself into the air and drove her blades into the soft flesh of its side, her grip tightening around the hilts as she struggled to hold her position against its thrashing. Heat poured over her head as it spewed more fire. Gasping, she dared a glance back to find a legion of dwarves battling back the horde of darkspawn. Alistair and Kallian had positioned themselves strategically at the beast's legs, hacking away at it. They would whittle it down. With the heels of her boots pressed into the torn flesh of the dragon, Aydan mounted its side and perched herself just above the wound Riordan had opened, her armoured hands digging into the flesh for balance. With another breath, she lunged forwards, about to plunge her blades once more into it when it bucked, as though it had expected her to do so. Pain lit through her back the moment its massive tail struck her and sent her spinning out over the roof. The blood of men coated her armor as she skid, struggling for some grip to stop herself.

Off to the side, she watched as Daylen shot bolts of lightning at the creature, singeing its flesh. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow as he continuously pelted it with every spell he'd ever learned. Yet, the dragon's eyes were all for her. Its massive steps brought it back in her range within seconds, only the frost spell slowing its movements.

Mustering her strength, she shot back to her feet and barrelled down on the beast. The movements were familiar as she scaled its wing, her blade ripping through everything she touched. Its wail shrieked into the crimson night. She lifted her blade above her head, ignoring the shouts and cries she heard from her companions below as she prepared to deliver the final blow. But before she could slam it down, wind sailed through her ears, her stomach lurching as she was once more tossed unceremoniously into the air. As she fell, flickers of her dream took shape in her mind and she altered her direction exactly as she done then and gripped her blades. It was the steel blade of her family that slid through the beast's neck, jarring Aydan painfully against its side. The beast's head rose as it bucked erratically. And just as in her dream, her fingers slipped from the hilt as blood poured over her. Only this time, she tumbled painfully back down to the ground, leaving the wailing dragon as it fought against the threat of death.

She rose as the creature fell, its blood pouring out over the roof, exactly as she had promised it would. There would be no goodbyes, she couldn't bare it. Her glove protested against her grip as she tightened it against the blade. With a steadying breath, she allowed for the thought of her parents to fill her with warmth. But just as she was about to rush forwards and end this, two large hands gripped her shoulders and whipped her around, shoving her away.

She staggered for balance, her gaze rising to find Alistair standing before her, his face screwed into a frightened knot.

"Aydan!" he cried out, dragging her focus to him instead of the dragon mewling in pain behind them. "No."

It was all he said. No? No? Her eyes narrowed on him.

"Alistair," it was Daylen who whispered his name. Naked fear etched into his face as well as he gazed on Aydan. It seemed both knew she intended to do this.

"Let me," he pleaded with her, his fingers falling upon her jaw as he slanted her face up towards him. "There is no need for you to die. This is my duty. I should be the one to kill it."

Her head shook before he even finished his words. "It is my duty as well, it's all of our duty," she said, indicating Daylen as well. "Get out of my way Alistair," she said gently. "We need to finish this."

"Please," he whispered as his hands slid down to her shoulders, gripping her almost painfully.

"Why?" she demanded. "Why you instead of me?"

His laugh was soft. "As your future husband, I would think you would know the answer to that question."

Daylen's gasp was quiet, but she still heard it.

"Alistair-"

"Don't argue with me," he teased weakly. "You won't win."

She had no intention of arguing. "No," she said, her tone harsher than she intended. "No. I won't do this again. I won't stand back and let someone else I love sacrifice themselves for me." Her father's face took shape before her, begging her to leave him. Her mother practically shoving her from the room as she promised to hold Howe's men at bay. All because they loved her. Exactly what Alistair was doing.

"It's not your choice," he told her gently.

A familiar fury lit within her. "It damn well is. You can't do this!"

"And you can?" he asked.

She nodded determinedly. "Yes, yes I can. I promised Riordan."

"Riordan's dead," he reminded her.

"I know that," she snapped, the old anger rising to the surface once more. Her fingers thumbed her blade. She just wanted to end this. She wanted to drive the blade home and be at peace. She knew but a flicker of it in Alistair's arms. She would not allow him to do this. She would _not_ live in a world without him.

"Aydan, I'm not asking you," he told her firmly. "My life is insignificant without you," he told her as though hearing her thoughts, his hands folding over hers and placing them against his heart. "I do this not for the people of Ferelden, but for you. Always you. Be strong, love."

Something in her broke. She saw the resolve solidifying in the depths of his eyes and knew she had lost. "I can't," she whimpered. "Not again. Not you."

He crushed her lips against his, his palm cupping her cheek as he drank in every last moment of her. When he drew back, her heart shattered. Never again would she gaze up into those amber eyes, never again would she feel the warmth of his body pressed against hers, hear the thrum of his heart as she rested against his chest. He'd never make her laugh, or feel loved as he was so good at. And it broke her. Her knees quivered as she fought to remain upright.

Her lips parted, her intent to convince him to let her take the final blow, as she'd sworn to herself she would, but he gave a soft shake of his head.

"Stop trying to change my mind," he growled gently in an attempt to lighten the mood. But nothing would ever lighten the mood again. She _couldn't_ let him do this.

He claimed her mouth once more, his fingertips trailing her cheek as he'd done the first time he'd kissed her. She could remember it as clearly as though it were yesterday. When he stepped back from her, his narrowed gaze landed on Daylen.

"Take good care of her," he ordered.

He turned to her once more, his smile gentle as his gaze swept over her. He turned away from her then and faced the archdemon. The sound of his sword being drawn would forever haunt her dreams, the feel of his final touch ingrained forever in her memory.

"No!" she cried, about to rush forwards when Alistair suddenly crumpled.

Shocked, Aydan spun to find Daylen standing over him, his stave clutched tightly in his hands.

"Maker, I've wanted to do that for so long," he laughed weakly as he turned to Aydan.

"What did you do?" she demanded as her gaze bounced between the two men. She made a move towards Alistair but was pulled to a stop by Daylen.

"Aydan, you need to listen up because we're running out of time."

Her gaze shot over his shoulder where the archdemon began trying to pull itself to its feet. The dwarves were managing to keep the darkspawn at bay, but it was a losing battle.

"From the first moment I set eyes on you, I loved you." He cast a disgusted look down on Alistair. "And I never stood a chance. Not while he was in the picture. And he would _always_ be in the picture, even in death. So I'm going to do this now as an early wedding gift to you. You deserve a chance at happiness and if he's what your heart wants, I'll gladly step aside."

She blinked up at him. "Daylen, this seems hardly the time!"

But before she could sort out exactly what he was talking about, Daylen swept down over her and brushed a tender kiss against her. As he rose back, he cast a simple smile down on her and brushed back a stray lock of hair. His fingers trailed south down her side but as he stepped away, he'd drawn her blade and walked towards the archdemon.

"Daylen!" she called to him but didn't know what to say.

It was his warm brown eyes that flicked to her as he cast a glance over her shoulder. A large smile curved over his mouth before he spun back to the archdemon and charged.

Once again she was reminded of her dream as Daylen slid beneath the dragon, her own blade splitting the flesh of the creature wide, its blood pouring over his head. She heard his gasps as he rose above the creature and slammed the blade home, piercing through its head.

She screamed his name again. She knew this part, knew the pain, and she knew the moment it hit him when his head fell back and his scream rent the darkened air, matched only by the wail of the dragon.

She dove forwards, determined to help him, but was simply too slow. With the rumbling of the roof, she'd managed two steps before an explosion of light erupted around her. Once more wind sailed through her ears as she took to the air. And then she fell, the abyss of darkness sweeping her away.

* * *

><p>AN: It was actually a hard decision to make! There were three different endings I'd been playing with since the beginning of the story haha. But I already had a tragedy story where Cousland died so I opted for a different ending. I simply adore the scene where Alistair is perched on the roof with the body of the woman he loves tucked into his arms, promising her that one day he will join her. Ack, so heart wrenching! But I listened to the mass of votes :D


	48. Epilogue

Epilogue

-Alistair-

The base of his skull ached horribly. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember why. His fingers crept to the back of his head, feeling for a wound, but there seemed nothing there. And that was when he remembered the sudden swell of will coursing over him before he fell to the darkness. That _blighted _mage. A low growl rose from his chest. His eyes flashed open to find blue skies hovering above him, something he hadn't seen in quite a while. Not a cloud in the sky, even. How odd.

The moment awareness fully took hold of him, he lurched up, groaning as the world tilted painfully. Directly across from him was what he could only imagine to be archdemon remains, splattered across the rooftop. He remembered the determination that burned through him to kill it. Kill it so that Aydan would live.

At that thought, his eyes sought her out, his heart instantly lurching into his throat. If the archdemon lay dead, had she been the one... and there she lay, clear across the rooftop, her battered body sprawled haphazardly, a third of her weight dangling from the edge.

"No!" he shouted as he scrambled awkwardly to his feet and rushed towards her. He'd kill Daylen for this!

His steps paused the moment he approached her side, his hands held out before him, afraid to touch her. With a gasp, his knees slammed down onto the cement. Every inch of her was covered in blood and he had no way of knowing if it was hers or not.

Finally, he reached for her, his hands grasping at her shoulders as he yanked her into his lap. Bowing over her, he listened silently for sounds of life. Panic clawed out of his throat in tiny whimpers when nothing moved.

"Alistair?" a soft voice drifted towards him.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way!" he shouted as his gaze snapped to Kallian, tears pricking at his eyes. "It was supposed to be me!"

Kallian's lips parted, but he ignored her as he curved over Aydan once more, dragging her body as close to his as he could get.

"Always," he whispered to her, his lips brushing against the top of her head.

Something shifted against him. He fell still, staring down at the body nested between his legs. He must have been imagining things, but when she let out a groan, he choked on his air.

"Aydan!" he shouted the moment her fingers clenched around his arm.

"Daylen killed the archdemon," Kallian finally spoke next to him. "Said it was an early wedding gift for the both of you."

Alistair's eyes rose as he listened, his hand clutched in Aydan's. The moment Kallian informed him of this, his eyes sought out the lump trapped beneath the dragon. He couldn't believe it.

The doors across the roof burst open, their other companions pouring onto the roof.

"Kallian!" Leliana gasped as she rushed towards her and pulled the elf into her arms. "Maker's breath, I was so worried."

"I'm fine, Lel," Kallian grinned honestly, pulling Leliana down for a solid kiss.

Alistair felt a swirl of magic pass over him and slam into Aydan whose muscles loosened the moment Wynne's healing spell took effect.

"I was worried as well," he murmured down to her.

"Next time, remind me not to stand so close." She rose from Alistair's lap, her eyes landing on the dragon. "So it's true."

Alistair helped Aydan to her feet and led her over. The mage was already gray in the face, his unseeing eyes staring up at the blue skies.

"He sacrificed himself so we could be together," she told Alistair.

"Damn," he cursed. Her eyes rose to his, her brows rising with curiosity. "Means I can't hate him anymore."

"That was a very noble thing he did," Wynne whispered beside them.

As one, Leliana and Kallian dropped down to his side and began to draw him out from under the weight of the archdemon. But it was Sten who carried him down the tower.

-Aydan-

"My friends," Aydan called lightly out to the crowd that had come together for the occasion. "We are gathered here to pay our respects to the Grey Warden that saved us all. He gave his life to destroy the Blight, a sacrifice we must never forget. It was no accident that he was there, either. He was... special, and those of us that knew him had our lives touched by him in some way." She shared a glance to Alistair, her smile small as she continued. "He gave us all a chance at life, something he himself had never been given. The Grey Wardens couldn't have asked for anyone finer. How do you properly honour someone like that? The Grey Wardens are building a magnificent tomb at Weisshaupt, right next to Garahel's, but I'd ask that we give something more."

Anora stepped forward and with a nod continued. "Knight-Commander Greagoir, please step forward. Tell me, what is the situation with the Circle of Magi?"

The templar seemed a little confused by this, but he answered anyways. "There have been no further abominations. It seems everything is back under control and we shall continue to rebuild. The mages of Ferelden need someplace to call home."

Aydan tried to ignore the surge of anger she felt. The tower had never been a home to these people, merely a prison. But she held her tongue.

"I wish to see the Circle restored, but I understand the Veil at the tower is too weak? That being the case, I wish a new tower built - with the Chantry's aid. And it will bear the Hero's name."

"A fine idea, your Majesty," Greagoir said as he bowed to Anora.

"Let all know," Anora continued. "That the arling of Amaranthine, once the land of Arl Howe, is now granted to the Grey Wardens. There they can rebuild, and hopefully live up to the example these Grey Wardens have made to Ferelden," she said as she indicated Alistair and Aydan. "Let us hope that he has gone onto a better place," she said as she gazed emotionlessly down on the mage. "And that he knows just how thankful we are for what he has done here."

One by one people began to bow their head in respect, fevered prayers whispering hurriedly under their breaths as they rushed home - wherever that was - to their remaining loved ones.

Soon all that remained was Anora, Alistair, and Aydan. With a soft smile, Aydan approached the slab of marble he'd been stretched out on. She settled by his side and gazed down on him. Some trick of the sun made it seem as though he were merely sleeping. Her fingers brushed the stray hair away from his brow and she pressed a gentle kiss against it.

"Thank you," she whispered before rising. There was nothing more that needed to be said. He had given his life for her and Alistair to be together. Alistair's fingers curved over his shoulder as he slowly drew her away.

"I hear there is to be a wedding," Anora began with the idle chatter as they slowly returned to the Denerim capital.

"In time," Aydan informed her.

"I have also heard the news that the First Warden wishes to meet with you in Weisshaupt."

"Yes," she said. "I am escorting Daylen to his tomb there. I want to ensure it is done properly. He deserves no less."

"Then it appears we have very little time to put together this wedding."

Aydan froze, her gaze rising to the queen. "Pardon?"

Alistair was chuckling behind his hand as he called out to Fergus who stood off to the side.

Anora took her hand with a bright smile. "I have much to thank you for myself," the queen told her. "While we may have had a rocky beginning, you returned the throne to me and it appears the nobles are much more loyal now than ever. And while Daylen might have been the one to strike the final blow, we all know that you are the true Hero. You are the one that brought together the three factions of the army, you are the one that saved Redcliffe. And it is because of you that what few Wardens remained managed to put an end to this Blight before it truly began. I think the least I could do arrange Alistair's and your wedding before you leave for Weisshaupt."

Aydan gaped at the queen. What had happened to the manipulative shrew she had heard terrible stories of? She continued to watch her, wondering when the other shoe would drop. It took a while but soon she caught it; a slight longing gaze in the direction of her brother.

"Ah," Aydan mused. "The truth behind the matter."

"I beg your pardon?" the queen asked softly.

Aydan only laughed before jogging towards her brother who, it seemed, had eyes for the queen as well. Only a year had passed since their home had been sacked, but so much had happened in that small frame of time. She felt she had aged an entire lifetime herself.

Fergus was speaking with Alistair of something, what Aydan had no idea, but before she could interrupt, her brother's arm snaked around her shoulders and yanked her into his chest, ruffling her hair.

"It seems we are to be wed before leaving for Weisshaupt," she told Alistair.

"The sooner the better, love," he murmured gently as he pulled her away from her brother.

Fergus gave a mock groan before leaving the two to their own private discussion.

"Think you can handle being married to me?" she teased, laughing when he rolled his eyes.

"Because the past year has been a breeze? You'll keep me on my toes, that's for sure."

She slapped at his chest, playfully pouting.

Grinning, he lowered down and stole a heated kiss before leading her back to the palace. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

><p>AN: And here marks the end of Every Rose Has its Thorn! I hope everyone thoroughly enjoyed it! In case any forget, I mentioned there were going to be more stories. I'm hoping for two, but we'll see how the next goes. I am, however, going to take a slight break haha, updating everyday was a tad consuming! And hopefully work on my own project for a bit :D So I do hope to see everyone again in "A Rose by Any Other Name". Let me know what you thought of this story though!


End file.
